


In The Eye Of A Hurricane

by Winterbell23



Series: He Is My Son [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Anxiety Attacks, Artistic License, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gay John Laurens, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, Historical Inaccuracy, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Medical Torture, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamorous Alexander Hamilton, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Washington, Psychological Torture, Sexual Assault, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterbell23/pseuds/Winterbell23
Summary: George Washington, placed in charge of an Army ill-equipped and under-supplied for the war it needs to fight, chose a young, fearlessly ambitious Alexander Hamilton to be his right hand. He never could have predicted that he and the boy who reminded him so much of his younger self would grow so close; nor the revelation that will change their lives forever.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington, Rachel Faucette Buck/George Washington
Series: He Is My Son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606198
Comments: 35
Kudos: 199





	1. The Beginning

George Washington had only ever traveled abroad twice in his life.

The first time was in 1751. 

His older brother, Lawrence, a product of his father's previous marriage, had fallen gravely ill. He had chosen to accompany him to Barbados, hoping the voyage and the warmer climate could help improve his health. Sadly a futile effort, and they returned home with trinkets for their family and the stomach churning realization that there was nothing they could do — nothing that George could do — to save his life. 

He passed the following year at Mount Vernon. 

Death came so quickly, a flicker of a shadow, then gone; but he never forgot that trip they took together, and how despite his illness, his beloved brother had looked at him one evening while they watched as the endless, ochreous sky blended into a pleasant shade of lilac, and told him, _"Regardless of my fate, I would rather be nowhere else than with you, Georgie."_

Perhaps that was why, just five years later, in '56, he attempted to return to that same place, this time alone.

When those you love are gone, all that remained were the people and places they touched. 

Maybe he was searching for oblivion following his defeat at the hands of the French, or because he thought recovering from the illness he had following a similar route he’d previously taken with his brother would make him feel better.

Whatever the reason, he never made it back to Barbados. 

A fierce storm had taken them way off course, and he ended up somewhere entirely new. A small pair of islands called St. Kitts and Nevis under Danish rule. It was while they were waiting out the worst of the storm that he met her. She was a tiny slip of a woman, but a beauty nonetheless, her skin naturally tanned a rich topaz thanks to the climate in which she had lived her entire life, dark brunette hair woven down her back and a smile that knocked the breath out of him the first time he saw it. Over all else, however, it was her eyes that first caught his attention; they were a shade of blue he had never seen before, closer to violet than anything else. Not a trick of the light or his own eyes, for the intensity of those luminous hues only increased the closer he got. 

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Sir. The name's Rachel. Rachel Faucette." She introduced herself the moment he greeted her, smiling up from under her dark lashes. 

She was fearless, fierce and burning with a bright untamed spirit he'd never seen before; drawing him in and captivating him completely. Incidentally, she was already married, though estranged from her husband. Her legal name was _Rachel Faucette Lavien_ , though she primarily introduced herself as either Faucette or Hamilton, the name of her common law partner. He learned her story over drinks at a local festival held by the islands each year in mid-April. She was born on Nevis but apparently spent several years in St. Croix; had been unwillingly married to a much older gentleman who turned out to be anything but. She had a son with him, Peter, before eventually leaving them both when their home became, as she described it, "unbearable" to remain in for a moment longer. 

Her husband had her imprisoned for leaving him, hoping to force her into obedience as his wife; and her response once she had been released was to leave with her mother for the British islands, where she met and fell in love of her own free will with a man, starting their own family together; she had a young son with him named James Jr. His father was a Scot who'd come to the island seeking a fortune from the sugar trade, and she added that their relationship was one of tumultuous commitment on both sides; she wanted freedom and he wanted to pursue his business ventures, so they were separated for long periods of time quite frequently. 

George would _like_ to say that any of this was a deterrent for him, but.. well...

That woman charmed him so very thoroughly that he spent nearly six weeks on Nevis with her, getting to know her inside and out in all the ways that it was possible for a man and a woman to know one another. He did have to leave, eventually, despite how thoroughly enchanted he was by the lovely woman, he yearned to return home to his family, to his beloved Virginia. 

Forcing himself to leave, however, had been... difficult, to say the least. It meant leaving her behind. 

A part of him dared to even say he loved that woman.

Before he left, he gave her a gift, a souvenir he'd picked up on Barbados to give to a woman he was courting at the time; however between his return to the Colonies and the blow of losing Lawrence, that relationship fell through, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to just toss the blasted thing away due to where he’d purchased it. 

It was [a pendant](https://i.imgur.com/pjkXH4U.png) composed of a brilliant sapphire, not quite blue and not quite purple but somewhere in between, an egg-shaped polished stone that, when exposed to light, exhibited a star-like pattern; the gem was gripped by four prongs and set in the center of a flower shaped from platinum, hanging from a long, thin silvery rope. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, to be certain, and had looked only all the more stunning when he saw that glowing smile on her face as he adorned her neck with it. It matched the color of her eyes.

As he watched that little, and previously insignificant island disappear on the watery horizon, a part of him couldn't help but feel, at the time, if not asking her and her boy to come with him would forever be his biggest _what if?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click on the link embedded into the word 'pendant' to see a rough idea of what the necklace George gave Rachel looks like.


	2. First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington knew that boy was something special the first moment he laid eyes on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I am drawing inspiration from sources such as Ron Chernow and other literary works about Hamilton, this story isn't meant to be a 100% accurate timeline. Like in the musical, some things will be condensed or outright fabricated, that's just how historical fiction works. I will attempt to make things as true as possible but some things will obviously need to be changed for the sake of moving the plot forward. Also; I didn't include Aaron Burr in the first meeting because, well tbh I don't know his character nearly well enough to write him.

**_December, 1776_ **

Washington had gotten wind of the man a good two years before he ever laid eyes on him.

He had received word of the Second Continental Congress's decision to create the New York Provincial Company of Artillery earlier that Autumn, in an effort to protect the city from British invasion, with Hamilton leading it as a newly commissioned Captain. So yes, he had _heard_ of him, however it wasn't until a correspondence with Henry Knox that he gave this apparently infamous young man more than a passing thought, as they had never met despite the shared battles they were all fighting together.

It was late December, and they had just secured a tremendous victory in Trenton not three days prior, and although he knew better than to celebrate too early lest they become sloppy, his men deserved the chance to enjoy the success for a moment, he had already seen the boost in their spirits. It was a sign of _hope_ that all was not lost no matter how bleak the winter had been. The General had just retired for the evening after receiving a number of letters from one of his aides and he set to work acknowledging them before turning in. Breaking the seal, he leaned back in his seat and held the parchment beneath the lantern light to read it.

_Sir,_

_I do hope these troubling times see you in good health? Operations have been running smoother than expected as of late, though I have little hope it will remain that way for the remainder of the war, such as our luck tends to be. I have honor of sharing with you a most delightful acquaintance I have made with one Captain Alexander Hamilton very recently. He is a quick witted, ambitious soldier who is none other than the same individual responsible for the militia raid of twenty-one cannons from the Battery while under bombardment from the Royal Navy's warship HMS Asia. Twenty-one! A fledgling college student took up arms with his fellow classmates and created their own artillery unit, rather than fleeing back home with their tails between their legs. Even at their age I was never quite so bold as those boys._

_I have requested Officer Hamilton to take a position as an aide-de-camp by my side, however as with Lord Stirling, Nathanael Greene and Alexander McDougall, he has ardently refused to consider it. That one has his heart set on glory. However, in spite of his voracious appetite for combat, I believe he can be persuaded otherwise given the same offer from another of greater eminence. He will no doubt be drawn to where the heart of the conflict lay as this war worsens, keep your eye out for him if he comes your way._

_Until we have the pleasure of meeting once again, my friend._

_I have the honor to be with the highest respect your most obedient humble servant._  
  
_H. Knox_

The General set the letter down as he contemplated what he had just read. 

Alexander Hamilton?

He’d met the boy all of once, and couldn’t recall face nor voice to match what Knox was telling him. He did, however, remember the young Captain had rather remarkable penmanship and that his largely volunteer unit and their fortification, Bunker Hill, was highly impressive. Unfortunately he’d had a million and a half things to do while he was last in New York, and couldn’t recollect much of this man that had apparently impressed Knox so much.

The name wasn't of any particular significance to him, although there were a handful of people whom he knew of bearing that surname, there was no reason to assume this boy was related to any of them, for Knox surely would have mentioned if he was of noteworthy blood. It was probably just another college student looking to make a name for himself. While he had no _current_ need to add any more aides to his unit (he was acutely aware of how quickly their supplies could begin dwindling as the winter set upon them), he had recently needed to reorganize his personnel staff, and had hired a handful of influential new staff to replace those lost to dragoons. George was always on the look out for skilled men, though. War was messy, and unfortunately because the Aides-de-Camp were so important for communication and administration work within the Army, they often became priority targets to their enemies. 

He would keep this man in mind, especially if he had managed to garner the attention of multiple high profile figures so abruptly that they all wanted him for themselves; Knox rarely spoke this highly of someone through written word. 

Considering the time for a moment, he picked up his quill and began to pen his response. 

* * *

_**January, 1777** _

As it turned out, Henry was entirely right about the young man. 

He received word that young Captain Hamilton was seen speaking with one of his officers following their smaller, but no less significant, victory near Princeton, New Jersey. It was good for morale if nothing else; any success kept the dreary winter melancholy at bay, gave them some hope that what they were fighting for was actually an achievable goal. Making his choice then, he sent one of his aides to locate the man and send him directly to his quarters so he could speak to him personally. He hadn’t gotten the opportunity either during the battle nor immediately after, but what he had seen and heard of him these past couple of months was... impressive. 

It was time he met this young prodigal soldier for himself. 

Not half an hour later, he heard someone enter his tent. 

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

He looked up and immediately needed to school his expression into something neutral, gesturing for Hamilton to come closer, "Please, come in."

The man - no, the _boy_ \- who came to a nervous stop in front of his desk couldn't have been older than eighteen! No wonder he hadn’t recalled him; Washington wouldn’t have been surprised if he had accidentally mistaken Hamilton for one of the New York soldiers younger brother the first time around. He was skinny, like he hadn't enjoyed a proper meal in years, if ever; his uniform looked tailored to his frame but was still big on him, indicating he had lost weight recently, and it was hanging off of him in a way not unlike that of a child dressing up in their father's clothing for fun, though that could be chalked up to the lack of standardized uniforms available to the Army in most cases, along with the aforementioned weight loss due to lack of provisions for the troops. 

He was nearly a foot shorter than Washington, his dark auburn hair pulled back into a queue, the strands curling at the nape of his neck and a few shorter baby hairs stubbornly coming loose to frame the shape of his face. His intelligent eyes watched him with the wariness of someone expecting to be punished. His eyes... they were such an _intense_ shade of blue, nearly purple in color, like the color of the hyacinth plant that Martha was so fond of. 

Hamilton's eyes made his _chest hurt_ , for reasons he couldn't describe. 

Shifting his weight when the General didn't immediately acknowledge that he did, in fact, want something, Alexander cleared his throat and spoke up, "Have I done something wrong, Sir?" 

His words snapped the older man out of his trance, forcing himself to look away from those bright, familiar - so _eerily familiar_ \- eyes, standing up as he replied, "On the contrary, I've called you here because our odds are beyond scary." The boy tilted his head to the side, confusion marring his features as he waited for the other to continue. "Your reputation precedes you, but I have to laugh." 

"Sir?" 

"Hamilton, how come no one can get you on their staff?"

He allowed a small smile to appear on his lips as the Captain's eyes widened with shock, and an affronted protest of 'Sir!' bubbled passed his lips, as he clearly got his back up, prepared to defend himself and his decisions. He raised a hand, attempting to seem nonthreatening. "Don’t get me wrong, you’re a young man of great renown. I know you stole British cannons when we were still downtown. Nathanael Greene and Henry Knox wanted to hire you..." And they were far from the only ones. 

The boy's shoulders relaxed, although he scoffed quietly and looked away, "To be their _secretary_ , I don't think so."

Ah, so that was it.

"Now, why are you upset?" Despite his attempts to hide it, the hint of amusement was still clear in his voice as he stepped around the desk to remove some of the distance between them. 

Arms crossed, Hamilton reluctantly dragged his gaze back to the General's, just for a moment, and trying not to look as petulant as he felt. "I'm not." 

"It's alright, you want to fight, you've got a hunger, I was just like you when I was younger." The young soldier lifted his head up, his eyes had widened slightly, and there was something hopeful in his eyes. _What was Washington getting at?_ "Head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr?" 

He answered with a concerning lack of consideration, immediate and certain, "Yes." 

_You're too young to be seeking death, son._

"Dying is _easy_ , young man. _Living_ is harder."

Swallowing, Hamilton looked into the other's blue-gray eyes, and he got the feeling the General was trying to get a read on him just as much as vice versa. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm being honest with you," Washington told him truthfully, not about to attempt to hire someone under false pretenses, certainly not someone who romanticized the thought of dying for glory. But this _child_ had promise... "I'm working with a third of what our Congress has promised us. We are a powder keg ready to explode, and I could use someone like you to lighten the load. What do you think?" He took the quill off of his desk and held it out in offering.

There it was.

When he'd first sent for Hamilton he had no intention of hiring him immediately on recommendation alone, perhaps not even after meeting him, but Henry was right... there was something special about the boy; a fire burning in him he'd be foolish to ignore when considering all he'd accomplished in just a couple of short years. 

Alexander stared at it with an unreadable expression. 

Seconds ticked by, and his eyes suddenly flashed up to meet George's, giving the subtlest of nods as he reached out to take the quill. "Son, we are out-gunned, out-manned..." he began, wanting to make sure the kid realized this wasn't going to be anything close to easy.

Much to his surprise, he bent over the nearby table and grabbed a clean sheet of paper, the General could only watch with barely concealed awe as Hamilton began to write immediately, his hand flying across the page with a fluidity and grace that startled him, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his words were just as quick and perspicuous, but he still found himself struggling to follow along with how fast he was speaking. "You need all the help you can get, I have some friends; John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette. Okay, what else?" He asked, but apparently wasn't expecting an answer so much as talking to himself, for he soon returned to his task. He had heard of two of the men named, and knew one of them personally; but he hadn't expected Hamilton to. Especially not the Marquis who even he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, though it was only a matter of time before that happened. He wondered how they became acquainted.

"Out-numbered, out-planned..." He continued, feeling rather like he was speaking to himself at this point. He had not stopped writing yet.

Hamilton was apparently undeterred by his words, "We'll need some spies on the inside, some King's men who might let some things slide. I'll write to Congress and tell them we need supplies, you rally the guys, we'll master the element of surprise..." Mulligan would be perfect for it, the young man realized. A popular tailor of the British Army and New York's upper class would have the best opportunity to gather information on the King's movements. He had been working with the Sons of Liberty for ten years, after all; secretly rebelling against the crown.

"Son, slow down." The hand on Alexander's shoulder made him tense up immediately, a reflex reaction, and his hand stopped moving as he looked up, worried he had angered the General by running his mouth off again. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, however you don't have to jump into this so hastily, you're allowed time to adjust—"

His newly appointed Aide de Camp stood up straight again, quill still clutched between his fingers, and meeting his gaze with nothing less than _raw determination_ and a little grin. "With all due respect, your Excellency, I would prefer to get started as soon as possible, we have not a moment to waste in these trying times. I'll rise above my station, organize your information, 'til we rise to the occasion of our new nation, Sir!" He looked up at the man with all the brilliant charm and confidence only a boy could possess. 

This was either going to be the best decision he had ever made, or the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Washington, in real life, actually sent a letter to Hamilton asking him to be his aide, several months before ever meeting him. It did happen in January of 1777, and in March when Hamilton arrived, the General formally announced him as his aide-de-camp, warning everybody to treat him with respect (probably because he was a 5'6" 20 year old boy with authority issues, depending on if you believe his birthday was in '57 instead of '55).  
> Also, John Laurens didn't actually arrive in Charleston until April of 1777, which is around the time he became a temporary Aid for Washington and a friend of Hamilton and Lafayette; for the sake of the plot I'm going to say that John did arrive in New York a few months earlier which was where he eventually met Alexander, prior to either of them joining the General's part of the military. Lafayette too, since he didn’t arrive in America until well into ‘77 and didn’t meet Washington until August if that year. I’m just going to say both men came earlier then in reality and met Alexander shortly after their arrival.
> 
> Other fun fact, the term "guy" wasn't coined until the early 1800s when Guy Fawkes came along, but I left it in because... well, Alex's motormouth is cuter when it rhymes, haha.
> 
> Please be sure to let me know what you think of George and Alex's first face to face meeting? I'll admit I struggled here but I feel like it's going to become a lot easier as time goes on and I get a 'feel' for these characters. Also, please feel free to leave any suggestions (historically related or just for fun) of something you'd like to see in future chapters, I'll try to incorporate it if I can! Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Hamilton flourishes in his new role as Washington's Aide de Camp, there are some unforeseen complications with those who are less than happy with him, fortunately there's someone he can always count on by his side.

_April, 1777_

Despite his incredible work ethic, it was quickly evident to Washington that Alexander had little to no ability to take a break of his own volition. 

The boy was a force to be reckoned with, and between his adamant refusal to take time for himself unless absolutely necessary (and even then, he usually had to be outright ordered before he would yield) coupled with his profound talent for putting ink to paper allowed him to nearly double the work his other Aides already did _combined_ , all on his own. It was not uncommon for him to return from a meeting or a meal and to find Hamilton still at work, the stack of papers sitting on the desk that he had completed and ready to send had doubled or perhaps tripled in height within an hour or so. 

It was after lunch, and as he returned to the room of Arnold's Tavern they were currently using as an office, he saw that his Aide de Camp was still there; hunched over his desk, hair pulled away from his face, the quill in his right hand moving quickly across the page, line after line, while his left index finger moved down a different page, taking in the words as he penned his response to the particularly long missive.

He looked to be in deep concentration. 

When was the last time he had _moved_ from that position?

"Alexander?" He called out. 

The boy lifted his eyes just long enough to give the man a nod, his hand never leaving the paper, "Good afternoon, Sir. How was your lunch?" 

"You would know that if you had bothered to join us." He replied, a small grin on his lips, regardless of his concern. 

He didn't seem to pick up on the teasing nature of his General's words.

Hamilton's head shot up and he quickly answered, "I wasn't aware you would be needing me for your meeting with Sir Pendleton, your Excellency! In the future I'll be sure to come with you so that I may transcribe any—" 

Washington's hands rose in the universal gesture for 'hold on', "Calm yourself, son," he addressed, taking note of the slight tensing of Alexander's shoulders. "I wasn't implying I was cross with you for not being there, merely suggesting that you remember to take a moment to rest every now and then. You're no good to me if you run yourself into the ground, Alexander." 

"Oh." The Lieutenant Colonel relaxed a fraction at the reassurance he hadn't missed an important task needed done, and shook his head, "Your concern is appreciated, Sir, but there's still so much work to do. I will rest as soon as I am finished." He said, and seeing the other man looked ready to object, added with a smile, "I promise."

Reluctantly, he let it go, knowing it would not be the last time they had this conversation.

* * *

"Hamilton!" 

A sigh left the young man as a familiar blond suddenly joined him as he left the General's headquarters. "Sergeant Miller, hello." He returned the greeting and kept walking, hoping the other would simply let him continue on his way. 

No such luck. 

A meaty arm was thrown around his shoulders and he fought the desire to flinch; he hated being touched by strangers.

"It's _Lieutenant_ now, actually."

David Miller had made no secret of his dislike for Hamilton ever since he became Aide de Camp. Even before that, he wasn't exactly friendly. The large man, a former blacksmith, had been a thorn in his side since before he had accepted the position, after an argument between he and Mulligan (with a few not so subtle jabs at the man's Irish background) had resulted in his passive aggressive remarks towards their entire friend group. 

Up until now he'd been able to successfully ignore him.

They were alone and he knew antagonizing this man, who was nearly twice his size and had a reputation for his temper around the camp (even worse than Hamilton's own), was most likely a bad idea. He took a deep breath. _Talk less, smile more, talk less, smile more_. Forcing his grimace into a, probably rather unpleasant-looking, smile, he looked up at the man, "Is that right? Congratulations." The Aide de Camp couldn't have sounded less enthused if he had tried.

He grinned, but there was something as phony about it as Alexander's smile was, "That's right, pretty soon I'll be all caught up to you!"

The scent of alcohol washed over his face and he wrinkled his nose; oh great, the man was _drunk_. Where had he even managed to get his hands on enough whiskey to loosen his inhibitions? Probably stole it. 

Alexander resisted the urge to scowl, "I wasn't aware that we were in a competition over ranking, Miller." 

He felt the hand laying on his shoulder get heavier, suddenly. 

"Competition began as soon as you became General Washington's new pet." 

The Aide wanted to pat himself on the back for the effort it took him to not roll his eyes at the man. Honestly, with how often some of his comrades said some variation of that to him, they may as well have had it branded on his forehead. Still wouldn't make the idea of it any less ridiculous; Washington had never showed even the slightest hint of favoritism towards him over his other assistants. "Perhaps you should be more concerned with your own rank, rather than how I got mine?" he suggested curtly. 

"I _know_ how you got yours." The pseudo-friendly smile on Miller's face disappeared, replaced with a look of hostility and disgust. 

His hackles raised, a dangerous edge to his voice " _Enlighten me._ "

The Lieutenant Colonel didn't so much as flinch at the slow burning anger in the older man's eyes.

"I think you whore'd yourself out to our commander-in-chief for a promotion and special treatment." he finally sneered. 

That's what he thought. 

David really was even more stupid than he could have guessed. 

Alexander turned, calmly, and decked him.

He felt his left knuckles splitting open as his fist made contact with Miller's face, and it would have been almost comical - the familiar sound that always made him think of someone attempting to tenderize meat with their bare hands - and a painful _crack_ of the other's nose. It was immensely satisfying for all of ten seconds before the blond male recovered and suddenly buried his own fist in Hamilton's stomach, knocking the wind out of him before he rammed the younger boy up against the nearby fence, his ankle twisting painfully as he tripped over himself in the process.

The pain that lanced up his back told him it was _definitely_ going to leave a mark. 

However, the Aide was more concerned about the arm now pressing across his throat, and he gasped, grabbing at the limb and trying to pry it off of his neck, but to no avail.

Strong, way too strong for his slight frame. 

Fuck.

Miller was whispering something gruffly in his ear and Alexander's eyes widened in alarm as he struggled to breathe.

He should have done something else to get away, kneed him in the groin or headbutted him, something, but the anger and returning punch had stunned him, and as his vision started to dance with dark spots he realized he probably should have just pushed the man away and gone back inside. 

"Hey! Get the hell away from him!" A familiar voice shouted, enraged, and suddenly Miller was ripped off of him and his legs were giving out as he fell on all fours, retching and trying frantically to _breathe_. The sound of a scuffle and someone stomping off barely registered with him, and soon enough the only noises were his own pained wheezes. A hand touched his shoulder and he recoiled instinctively, but the grip became firm and someone else dropped to their knees beside him, "Alexander—it's just me!" he looked up and saw the concerned face of John Laurens staring back at him. 

Ever a hero. 

* * *

After helping Hamilton return upstairs to his temporary quarters in the tavern, he insisted on tending to his injuries. 

"This is completely unnecessary, I am _fine_." Alexander insisted, though the rough rasp of his voice likely did nothing to convince Laurens of his condition. 

His best friend sat on the edge of his bed, turned slightly to face him, "Humor me?" 

A sigh left the younger boy as he reached up to undo the green neckerchief, carefully pulling it off before reaching for his collar. When he winced, John brushed his hands away, "Here, let me." Surprisingly, the New Yorker didn't put up a resistance; merely tilted his head back slightly to allow the other better access as he gently unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. 

The sharp inhalation brought Alexander's eyes back to John, finding his lips pressed tightly together, brows creased and his light blue eyes bright with anger... and worry. 

He swallowed, "How bad is it?" 

If he was being truthful, it could have been worse - Hamilton was lucky that Miller didn't break his damn _neck_ for all the self restraint he has - but it still made his stomach twist in knots to see the vivid red strip going across his throat, a clear reminder he'd been nearly strangled unconscious by that lunatic. "It's not too bad," he finally breathed out, "How do you feel?" 

"Like I had a straight razor shoved down my throat, blade first." Alexander described rather graphically, but shot the other an apologetic look when he winced. "Sorry. But, really, John, I'm okay..." 

"You almost weren't." He argued, still fuming at what he'd seen. Miller was _lucky_ all he'd done was kick him in the ass. Literally. "What the hell was that even about, why did he attack you?" 

Hamilton shifted and looked away, "...I may have punched him."

"Alex!" 

The redhead scowled, "He was asking for it, you weren't there, you didn't hear what he _said_." Seeing the questioning look on John's face, he crossed his arms uncomfortably over his abdomen, which was still tender from where Miller had returned the favor. "He... may have suggested that I was having _inappropriate_ relations with the General, and that that was the reason I was offered the position of his Aide." He felt sick just thinking about it, and angry all over again that he would imply Washington would ever do something so terrible. 

Laurens' expression was unreadable for a moment, before he eventually sighed, realizing he would have done the same thing, would have had to.

Washington was like a father to most of the younger men here, especially the ones who were orphaned or estranged from their families. The disrespect would have warranted even more than that, in his opinion. "You didn't use your right hand did you?" 

"Of course not, I'm not stupid." Alexander muttered, lifting his left hand to show him the bruises now dotting across his knuckles along with a split on the middle digit from where he’d struck the man’s nose.. He could write with both hands, but he was more comfortable with the right as his dominant.

"Jesus, _that_ is certainly up for debate, Alexander." John grabbed his wrist and brought his hand close to his face, studying the reddened marks on the back of his hand. "You know there's no chance that you will be able to hide this from the General, right? You need to tell him Miller has been harassing you, he won't be happy if you don't and he finds out anyways. Nor will the others." 

Hamilton swore quietly under his breath. 

Over his dead body would he ever repeat what had been said to him to Washington.

Especially the last part. 

_"How about you give me a taste of what the General's getting every night?"_

Remembering the brute's mouth near his ear as he breathed those vile words to him made Alexander's skin crawl in disgust. 

"I will think about it." He muttered, already knowing that he had zero intention of following through on it as he laid down, feeling his head beginning to pound as his body finally registered what it had just gone through. He would have to think of some way to conceal his injuries until they healed, his knuckles he could probably explain away as a nasty fall.

Laurens' hand brushed over his own, a gesture he normally wouldn't have noticed, but it lingered this time. 

He didn't mind, not when it was him.

"Rest for a little while, my dear Hamilton, I will wake you before anyone takes notice of your absence..." The other promised softly. 

The younger man just gave a 'mmhm' sound, already drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Guess who finally found a decent quality taping of the Hamilton musical? I've never seen it before, only bad clips on YouTube and of course the official Broadway soundtrack; I'll finally be in the loop for all the live performance jokes! *Insert excited vibrating*


	4. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Come back to me.'
> 
> Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in update, I was trying to think of what to do next for this story! Hopefully it being slightly longer (and more shippy) than previous chapters will make up for it?

_September, 1777_

Hamilton had never been more grateful that the General was preoccupied trying to keep the Army alive than he was the couple of weeks that it took him to recover from his scuffle, if one could call it that; the bruises were fairly easy to cover up, but the fact that his voice was hoarse had been a bit more difficult. Thankfully, between trying to gather resources in lieu of convincing Congress to send more supplies, and the fact that several men had come down with sickness as the seasons began to change, he was able to pass it off for a sore throat. 

He'd been staying clear of Miller ever since that day, and while the man had attempted to approach him a few times, Lafayette and Hercules had been clued in to the situation by Laurens. While he'd been annoyed at first at constantly being escorted by one of them like some sort of damsel, he was secretly relieved, as much as his wounded pride would allow him to be. Before long, it didn't even feel like protection anymore, it was just friends spending time together while at war.

The Lieutenant had taken one look at him being flanked by the broad-shouldered Mulligan and the tall but infamously agile Marquis _once_ and immediately kept on walking. 

If Washington suspected something was amiss, he spoke not a word of it.

Though he never talked with his superior about it, Alexander was perceptive; he knew the General saw the younger men in his Army as surrogate sons. There was a reason why he did not make much of an effort to get to know them, it would only increase the difficulty of decision making when the time to fight came. How could you look at the men you saw as your own children and send them off to their potential deaths, after all? Still, he didn't miss the fact that Washington occasionally had a fond smile on his face whenever he thought Laurens or the others weren't looking. 

He could feel his eyes on him, sometimes, and his stomach knotted at the realization that he had probably been at the receiving ends of those smiles before and hadn't noticed. His Excellency had referred to him as 'son' on more than one occasion, and addressed him by his first name when they were alone. 

Alexander had a father once, a mother, too. 

They'd both left him, in different ways perhaps, but he still felt the ache in his heart as if it were the same, because they were lost to him, and he would likely never see either again. He didn't need nor desire another parent that would inevitably break his heart, and he had no intention of allowing himself to grow close to Washington only for the man to die or throw him aside one he had let his guard down. 

It was true of more than just parents; all of his family had gone at some point or another. 

A small part of him sometimes wanted to tell Lafayette and Hercules to fuck off; he didn't _need_ another brother, he had two already and neither of them wanted anything to do with him. He didn't need a family, and he didn't need friends, he'd never needed anyone but himself and he was _fine_ with that. It was for the best. Family would have just held him back. That's what he told himself more often than not.

So why was it that he couldn't seem to just tell them to leave him alone?

 _It's just until the war is over is over_ , he reasoned, _then you'll never see any of them again anyways_.

It would be a lie to say that thought didn't keep him up some nights. 

So Alexander buried himself in correspondences for the General and missives from Congress and works and works and works until he _can't_ do anything but collapse, exhausted, in his bed when he's done, having no energy left to ponder the thoughts of the future that frightens him. It's easier that way. Alexander knew he probably wouldn't survive the war, it didn't really bother him all that much; if he died it would be as a hero, and if he didn't he would go on to make a name for himself, a true legacy. That was the plan and he had zero intention of straying from it.

He runs himself ragged on more than one occasion; his Excellency has to put his foot down, either out of concern or because he'd resorted to stealing work from the other Aides when his own runs out, he's not sure. He reels himself in a little bit after that. 

But just a little. 

It was a week after the incident with Miller that he found himself a new form of distraction that didn't cost him his physical health.

* * *

The first time it happened was an accident. 

Mostly. 

Laurens had to physically drag him from his desk; he had promised Washington that he would retire shortly after the man himself was, that he just had a few things to finish up first and then he would be going to bed. That was two hours ago, and in another three the sun would be up. They were still in Arnold's Tavern for the time being, and many of the Aides and Officers among the General's ranks had doubled up or made use of any room they could find, for which he could not fault them; try as their leader might to maintain order, between the women and children following their soldiers for protection from the British Army, the possibility of infighting over petty issues, and the dangers of the elements themselves, Alexander too would avoid having to sleep in a tent if possible. 

But John had scoffed at him when he'd suggested his friend take Hamilton's quarters for the time being, knowing it was an attempt to derail their previous discussion, which was his habit of overworking. 

"This is really quite unnecessary, Laurens!" He protested indignantly as the stronger male tightened his grip on his arm and pulled him into his room, and Alexander would have blamed his lack of real resistance against him on tiredness, but... that would have only proven the other man right, and his ego would not allow him the admission of a flaw. No, instead he told himself he was humoring the other man.

Finally releasing him once they were alone in the room and the blond had shut the door, John turned and gave him the look. Even the sprinkles of color that peppered his nose and cheekbones seemed disapproving. His eyebrows pulled together at the orphan's words, head tilted. Incredulous. "I think it is _completely_ necessary, Alexander, have you seen yourself recently?" he gestured at the man, causing him to cross his arms self-consciously. "You look like you are on the brink of death! When was the last time you slept... or ate, for that matter?" 

It was the anxiousness in those celeste blue eyes that caused Alexander to abruptly misplace his anger. 

"...I eat." He muttered. It was true, he did. Maybe not as much as he should, but really, were _any_ of them eating the proper amount for their physical output or size? They simply didn't have the supplies to feed everyone as much as comfort could allow. The Aide de Camp had been acquainted with the pangs of hunger from a young age, they no longer caused him any real discomfort. 

He was fine. 

"My dear Hamilton," the Major moved closer, taking both of Alexander's hands in his own, his expression imploring. Something in the back of the younger man's mind told him he should be less tolerant of such physical affection, but he couldn't seem to find the energy to be bothered. Laurens had always been this way with him, and he didn't really mind. " _Please_... rest. Just for a few moments, nothing so terrible will occur if you put your quill down for an hour or two." 

Had Laurens always smelled of campfire smoke and coriander, or was he imagining things? 

"I can rest when the War is won." He said listlessly, not really considering his words, pulling his hands away from John's and beginning to maneuver around him towards the door. 

The next thing he knew, he was being shoved up against a nearby wall, with Laurens' hands clutching the ruffled part of his shirt tightly, his furious face inches from Alexander's. His breath hitched. "Would you _listen_ for once in your life you damn fool?!" He hissed, his low voice edging on something dark, and dangerous. It wasn't fear that had heat crawling up the back of the writer's neck and coloring his face though; it was the close proximity to the other man. He'd never noticed before, but John had a bit of green in his eyes; small rings of sea green that circled the outside of his pupils. "You are going to _kill_ yourself at this rate, Alexander, what good are you to our cause if you're _dead?_ " 

For some reason, that vexed him more than being bodily hauled from the office had, and he was dragged out of his musings over the Major's appearance. 

A sardonic grin made its way onto his lips, "Dearest Laurens, I didn't know you cared so much." _Liar_. "I should have died many times over and at this point I am not entirely certain I am capable of such mortal weakness. If it is any assurance to you, I have made it without intervention thus far and will continue to do so long after you and I part ways." 

He could see the final strand of patience his friend was on snap, and for a moment entertained the belief that John was going to punch him. 

What he did instead had a far greater effect on the young man.

John Laurens _kissed_ him.

* * *

Alexander had been told many a time that he would experience the fires of hell.

It was to be expected; regardless of her attempts to hide the fact that her marriage to his father, James Hamilton, was not a union recognized by the church or law, up to and including an alias when they moved to St. Croix, people still _knew_. The logical conclusion to draw was that she had mothered children with a man to whom she was not wed, and despite the fact that his father had been in his life for his first ten years, in the eyes of the law he was a bastard. Not a legitimate child. According to some of the more rigidly faithful in his town, that meant he was to endure an eternity of damnation. 

What a tolerant system of belief, to blame a child for the sins of his parents.

Still, he can't help but find a sort of amusement in the fact that he would get a taste of what was supposedly to come, the sensation of _burning_ , not in the aftermath of his death, but rather in his life. 

From the lips of another, and a _man_ , no less. 

Oh, Laurens' lips tormented him some nights in ways that would make even a whore blush. 

It was one such evening when the man had slipped away from his own room to join Hamilton in his, the door locked of course, always taking care not to arouse suspicion or raise their voices. 

"You're thinking again, I can tell," the soft accusation came from the man whom was two years his elder; he was currently laying atop Alexander's smaller form, running a finger through the other's red brown hair, twisting his fingers through the strands and watching it bounce away in a slight curl. "Do you require a diversion?" His voice was playful, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

_Those eyes would be the death of him._

Still, a grin tugged at the corners of Alexander's lips, absently tracing imaginary patterns on the muscled skin of Laurens' back.

He was thinking, about the mission Washington was having him attend later tonight, to destroy the American flour mills along the river before the British could get their hands on them. A necessary sacrifice.

"Perhaps...? A refresher at the least for later should I begin to find my mind wandering wouldn't go amiss." He tilted his head back as John leaned down, covered Hamilton's lips in a slow, lazy motion, pushing the younger Aide's open with his tongue to lick along the inside of his mouth in a way that sent delightful shivers of _want_ running down his spine, heat pooling low in his belly the way it always did when John touched him.

Laurens' hands rested against his shoulders, occasionally giving them a squeeze as his mouth departed from Alexander's and began its descent downwards, leaving fire in his wake as the man's stubble rubbed against the sensitive skin of his jaw, his neck, his—

A familiar hand clamped down over his mouth to muffle the sharp _keen_ that would have left it as Alexander arched, John's legs on either side of his own leaving him in the perfect position to compromise his lover in all the best ways. "Shh..." he breathed, and God, the teasing drawl in his voice as Laurens’ lips tickled the outer shell of his ear was _torture_. "Just let me take care of you, dear Alexander..." he whispered, his own voice hoarse with that same hunger Hamilton felt whenever he looked at him these days. 

The pleasure that had his toes curling when John dragged his length along the underside of the Aide's own was _maddening_ , and he couldn't get enough. 

It had started out uncertainly. Lips locked, quiet giggles as their noses bumped against one another's, their uncertain hands caressing each other through their clothing, pressing and rubbing against one another, equal parts touch-starved and yet fearful of what they were doing. Soon enough, the clothing was no longer a barrier between them. 

As their romps became more frequent, the blond grew bolder. 

"For all of your distractions this evening, at least part of you still seems interested." John said coyly as his arm wormed its way between the two naked men to take Alexander in hand, giving him a gentle squeeze and watching as his best friend turned scarlet in the cheeks at his words. He cradled the younger's face in his other hand as he stroked him, slowly at first, then more intensely, calloused fingers working the head of his manhood while staring into his eyes. He was always talking about Alexander's eyes. 

He was close, so close, a quiet, wrecked moan leaving his lips as he rocked into the touch, a drop of sweat running down his brow. 

The Lieutenant felt the coil in him tighten before snapping and he clung helplessly to Laurens' shoulder as his climax ripped through him, biting down on his lover's freckled shoulder to silence his own cry. 

Alexander was shaking afterwards, wordless pants escaping his throat and violet blue eyes glazed over as John bent down to kiss him, groaning into Hamilton's mouth as he came in spurts over his own fist, both men shivering and clinging onto one another as the elder laid his head against his best friend's frantic heartbeat. They would have probably laid there all evening together, if they were able.

Unfortunately, within the next half hour both were up and dressed, and Laurens was pulling him into a lingering kiss before they left the room, one which voiced the same silent request that it always did whenever he had to carry out a task that involved leaving their camp. 

_'Come back to me.'_

Always.

* * *

The mistake of the British Cavalry was their arrogance that greater numbers meant they would always get what they wanted. 

He heard the sentries they had posted fire their warning shots, and everyone was on the move.

Hamilton knew they were outnumbered, it was just him, Captain Henry Lee, and seven cavalrymen sent to this mission. They thought they had more time. Time to abandon ship, so to speak. He looked the opposing group in the eye as he lit the flour mill up without hesitation, a _fuck you_ in everything but speech as their men scattered, and the British dragoons chased Henry and two of their American soldiers on horse across the millrace. Hamilton sprinted to the scow he had anchored to the edge of the Schuylkill river, a handful of his men soon joining him, ushering the frightened horses on as they did. 

Since when the _hell_ did Light Dragoons come armed with carbines?

They were halfway across the damn river when the enemy gave up on Lee and turned around for them. 

It was an average sized boat, not meant for the volleys of ammunition they began to fire at them. 

Rage and grief unfurled in Hamilton as one of his soldiers were hit, and he fell face down into the river, another was shot as well, left injured but alive by the time they decided to jump for it; he managed to get one of the bastards right in the neck as payback before they did. He wasn't able to save his horse, the poor thing was crippled and he was thankful that the relentless fire of the British finished her off quickly so as not to prolong her suffering. 

The sound of the gunfire was deafening as they attempted to shoot them down in the water, and, thinking quickly, Alexander held his breath and swam down, deeper into the dark water, a hope that they would presume him dead. 

It worked; unfortunately the recent torrential pouring had elevated the Schuylkill, and the current was more violent than he had anticipated. 

Hamilton would have liked to have said he kept a clear head the whole time...

But the truth was that it was terror, rather than the slightly lowered temperature of the water, that seemed to paralyze his limbs, fear crawling up his throat.

_...Bodies littered across the beach..._

_There were people screaming... searching for children, loved ones, those who had been swept away by the devastation, praying they had somehow survived...._

_—and in the center of it all? A young boy sat in the sand, staring at everything yet taking none of it in..._

_His mind was somewhere else, trying to process what had happened..._

He gave up struggling against it quickly, knowing better than most how to swim, and that trying to fight nature would only exhaust him while being a futile effort, so he went with the flow, and it carried him miles away from where his surviving Cavalry had gathered. As soon as he caught sight of a jagged rock embedded near the bank, he grabbed it and clung on for dear life, dug his boots into the mud and shoved upwards, pulling himself out of the water. After crawling a few feet away, he collapsed for a moment, gasping for breath, coughing up the water he’d unintentionally swallowed. 

It took longer than he would ever admit to get his his bearings; trying to shake off the ghosts of the past so he could focus.

The moment he felt he'd recovered enough from his little dip, Alexander tied his hair up with a piece torn from his shirt and started _running_. 

He had to get back. 

If there was even a small chance that none of his men had escaped the Dragoons alive, he had to make it back in time to warn them, warn Congress. With the two small vessels left at the river they would easily be able to ferry enough men across that would obliterate the militia protecting them in Philadelphia; and it would be all his fault. 

The chill of heavy, wet clothing and soreness in his muscles barely registered as he made his way through the forest. 

It was two hours before he finally caught a break.

As soon as he found the tree with the slightly hollowed trunk he knew exactly where he was; it would take most of the night to get back to Washington and the others, but he was certain he could make it in time. Reaching into the gap in the bark, he pulled out the emergency bag that had been stuffed in there, silently thanking the General for letting him go through with this despite the fact they were perpetually low on supplies. It didn't have food, they couldn't even afford to consider tossing away rations on the off chance they might need them later; but it had something more important. He pulled out the preserved pages and the quill, laying them out on the driest, flattest surface he could find, and wrote probably the shortest letter he'd ever signed his name to.

_'Sir,_

_If Congress have not yet left Philadelphia, they ought to do it immediately without fail, for the enemy have the means of throwing a party this night into the city. I just now crossed the valleyford, in doing which a party of the enemy came down & fired upon us in the boat by which means I lost my horse. One man was killed and another wounded. The boats were abandon’d & will fall into their hands. I did all I could to prevent this but to no purpose._

_I have the honor to be with much respect, Sir, Your Most Obedient Servant._

_A. Hamilton'_

He intended to get up and keep moving, but the persistent aching in his limbs wouldn't allow him to cooperate immediately, and so he decided to take just a few moments to rest, although it could be hardly called such given the anxiety that was clawing at his insides. Unable to sit idle, he considered the fact that even if he _did_ make it back to camp by daylight, there was a chance that the letter would be intercepted or not make it there for delivery before the British set their sights on Philadelphia. A backup would be a wise plan to counter the chance of this. 

Rubbing at his eyes and unintentionally smearing dirt and ink across his cheekbone, Hamilton hunched over the page and jotted down a slightly longer recap of what had happened. 

_'Sir,_

_I did myself the honor to write you a hasty line this evening, giving it as my opinion that the city was no longer a place of safety for you. I write you again lest that should not get to hand. The enemy are on the road to Swedes ford, the main body about four miles from it. They sent a party this evening to Davesers ferry, which fired upon me and some others in crossing it, killed one man, wounded another, and disabled my horse. They came on so suddenly that one boat was left adrift on the other side, which will of course fall into their hands and by the help of that they will get possession of another, which was abandoned by those who had the direction of it and left afloat, in spite of everything that I could do to the contrary. These two boats will convey 50 men across at a time so that in a few hours they may throw over a large party, perhaps sufficient to over match the militia who may be between them and the city. This renders the situation of Congress extremely precarious if they are not on their guard; my apprehensions for them are great, though it is not improbable they may not be realized. The most cogent reasons oblige me to join the army this night or I should have waited upon you myself. I am in hopes our army will be up with the enemy before they pass Schuylkill. If they are, something serious will ensue._

_I have the honor to be with much respect, Sir, Your Most Obedient Servant._

_A Hamilton'_

Hearing thunder in the distance and realizing it was likely due to storm again at any moment, Alexander quickly wrapped the two letters up in the remaining parchment to keep as dry as possible, and tucked it back in the satchel which he slung over his shoulder, and kept walking. He would walk all night if he had to in order to save Congress from a massacre. 

_Please let me make it on time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the real letters Hamilton sent to John Hancock after the Schuylkill River incident for my fictionalized gay version of it, oops. 
> 
> Also, if you're wondering about the 'Major' part, Laurens wasn't given the rank of Lieutenant Colonel by Washington until October of '77, I don't know if he was a Captain before that who skipped the rank of Major like Hamilton did or if he was a Major. Hell, he may have even just been a Private. I'm too lazy to dig deeper for an answer so I'm just assuming he was a Major before his commission.


	5. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John, how old is Alexander?"

_September, 1777_

Washington heard the commotion caused by the messenger's arrival, before he ever saw that dreaded missive.

 _They're back early_ , he thought. Either everything had gone well, or they'd needed to retreat.

He could just barely hear the footsteps approaching his quarters over the uproar his men were making. He didn't look up, assuming it was Hamilton who was there to discuss the (hopefully successful) results of the mission. His Aide had initially been a little put out that the General saw fit to have him lead a Cavalry to destroy American paper and flour mills and keep them out of enemy hands, but denied him the opportunity to take charge on the battlefield, but he still agreed nonetheless. It wasn't that he didn't think the boy capable, it was just... he was so young, and eager to prove himself.

He knew first hand how disastrous that combination could be when in a place of power; pride bowed to no man.

"Hamilton, mission report?" 

The footsteps stopped all at once, and he _felt_ the hesitation, "Sir..."

George looked up sharply and found the Marquis de Lafayette lingering in the doorway, his face was so pale that he resisted the urge to look at the floor and see if he was rapidly losing blood from some invisible wound. But, no, the man wasn't _harmed_ \- aside from the injured calf he’d sustained from a musket-ball in Brandywine last week - his eyes were full of fear. It was a horribly familiar expression, and one that made his chest tighten. 

"...What happened?"

There was a letter clutched in his hand, and he limped across the space between them with dread, as though he already knew what the sealed message contained. 

Perhaps he did. 

He didn't take his time opening it, tension pulling at the man's shoulders as he realized it was from Lieutenant Colonel Henry Lee. That was enough to put him further on edge, the fact that it was addressed from the man accompanying his Aide and not Hamilton himself. It would be a lie to say his hands weren't shaking slightly as he read it, read about the British Calvary that attacked his men while they were on a mission _he_ sent them on. 

One of his men was confirmed to have been killed, and another had been non-fatally wounded. 

Hamilton was... presumed dead by Lee, he hadn't made it across the river after they were forced to jump from the boat to avoid being shot, the enemy had been firing at them relentless, his horse had gone down so he’d dove for it and disappeared beneath the water—

_No..._

They hadn’t found him after managing to regroup in the forest. 

"Alexander..."

He didn't realize he had spoken the name until a sharp pain gripped his heart, and he heard Lafayette gasp as the letter slipped from his fingers; he looked up and saw the grief-stricken expression on the young man's face. Apparently his reaction to the letter alone told the Frenchman what he needed to know. "... _Mon Dieu, pas notre petit lion, s'il te plait... John et Hercules avoir ont perdu un amant et un fils ce soir et moi un frère._ " The young man was visibly fighting back tears as he spoke. 

It was then he remembered that he was with one of his Aide's closest companions, who had known him since even before he joined Washington's ranks. Their small group of friends were like brothers to each other. Not only that, but Lafayette had only _just_ turned twenty earlier that September; these boys were carrying the burdens of grown men. 

"I'm so sorry, your Excellency, I have to—the others need to know... before the word gets out. Oh, no, _Laurens_ , he will be inconsolable. _Cela va lui briser le cœur_. I must go!" Before he could say anything, the Marquis had vanished, leaving him alone with his revelation. 

When he was certain he was alone, the General did something he hadn't done since the day his sweet innocent daughter Patsy died; he put his head in his hands and wept. Not just for a life cut short, but a fiery spirit who was too damn young to have lost the opportunity for a brilliant future that surely would have been waiting for him.

It was a true testament to the unfairness of the world: his young Hamilton lay at the bottom of a cold and friendless river while he sat warm and protected in his office.

That night Washington mourned like a parent who had lost their child.

As the skies opened up once more that night and rain poured, it felt as if the Heavens themselves were crying with him.

* * *

The morning after he received the news, the camp was disconcertingly quiet.

It was brisk outside, chilly despite the reasonable temperatures for this time of year, due to the frequent storms they'd been having as Autumn arrived.

Washington left his quarters and began to walk the perimeter; the soldiers standing on guard nodded respectfully when he passed but otherwise did not communicate in any way, a fact for which he was grateful, he wasn't sure he could speak without revealing the depths of his grief. Somehow the sorrow that hung in the air was just further proof to what he wished more than anything was one horrid nightmare. His face was set into an expressionless mask; he was still their General after all, expected to lead these men to a victory for their country. The war would not come to an end just because he felt like his life had.

Alexander had been with him not even a year, but he'd grown inexplicably fond of the boy, from his charming attempts to pretend he didn't bristle at most figures of authority, right down to his exasperating refusal to stop and take a break so long as there was work that needed to be done. If George had ever been able to produce children of his own, he imagined his late Aide would be remarkably similar to his kin. 

Confident, intelligent, endlessly stubborn and independent to the point of foolishness. 

He looked up, arms folded behind him, and noticed a couple of his men sitting around a now dying campfire (he was sure he didn't want to know how they had managed to light one, with how damp it was from the rains that had only stopped an hour or so ago), and his steps suddenly faltered when he realized who was there. 

Alexander's friends.

Hercules was absent at the moment, but the other two were tucked closely together. He hesitated when he saw his volunteer Aide de Camp, Major John Laurens. He was an extraordinary man who Washington had always thought he was lucky to have among his ranks despite their at times conflicting ideals... and he also happened to be Alexander's best friend. The young man was staring vacantly into the remnants of the fire, and even from a bit of a distance he could see the tear stains on his cheeks, the hollowed out expression displayed across his face, and the shadows under his eyes that stood out prominently against his fair skin, and he was gripping something between his fingers, some sort of chain, holding it like a lifeline. 

He looked _broken_. 

George saw Lafayette whisper something to the other man, gently nudging his friend to snap him out of his trance. He began to move forward, not even knowing what he was going to do but feeling the urge to talk to them nonetheless, if only to express his condolences. _These were two of the three men who knew Hamilton better than anybody, even more so than myself, and perhaps the only_ _family he had in this country_.

However, before anyone could speak, a young man jogged up to them and stopped, bending at the waist to brace his hands against his knees, panting for air, "General Washington, Sir, Major Laurens, Major General de Lafayette, I am glad you are all together!" He regarded the boy, no older than eighteen or nineteen - Lord, how were so many of his soldiers mere _children_ that had been dragged into this hell? - as he waited for him to catch his breath. Eventually, the young man stood up straight again, his eyes wide and brown hair falling into his eyes in an unkempt fashion.

"At ease, Corporal, what seems to be the problem?"

"Sir Mulligan told me to come get you all right away! There's something happening at the North sentry!" He pointed to where a crowd of officers and enlisted men had gathered at the perimeter.

Almost relieved to have a distraction from what would no doubt have been a mutually upsetting exchange, Washington was on the boy's heels as he turn and ran back to the group, hearing his voice calling out to make way for the General, and the crowd immediately separated into two sides, creating an open pathway between them to see what all the fuss was about. 

What he saw ripped the air from his lungs. 

Mulligan was walking just outside the edge of the camp's border, his arm wrapped around someone whom was practically laying against him as he supported him with his body, a young man with the tailor's coat draped over his shoulders.

 _It couldn't be_.

"Would you damn half-wits get out of the way and quit pointing those things at us!" Hercules snapped brutishly at the perimeter guards who had been following his movements with their pistols, or rather following those of the man that was accompanying him, "I said knock it off! It's not a Brit! It's Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton!"

It was. 

Alexander. 

The young man was a pathetic sight to behold for certain; Hamilton, who always seemed to pride himself on his appearance, was pale white and utterly filthy, his clothing was torn and smudged with dirt and what was most likely blood, and he was completely soaked to the bone, his boots caked in mud and his lips and fingertips had taken on a concerning tint of pale blue.

But he was _alive_. 

Washington had ordered the sentries to stand down at once and joined Mulligan in a matter of seconds, flanking his Aide's other side to help support him without regard for the condition his own uniform would be in afterwards. He felt like the whole world had turned on its axis. "Alexander, are you hurt? What happened to you?" His voice was surprisingly level given the seven degrees of disbelief and concern washing through him, but he was prioritizing. His emotions could wait until after the boy had been looked at. He seemed rather out of it. "Hamilton!" 

The familiar tone of his commander made the young man's eyes snap open and he was shaking his head, "N-No... not hurt. Just cold... tired..." he muttered, and then added, "...current washed me down river... they s-shot my horse, I needed to get back... needed to warn them... Congress... danger, you have to..."

It took him a moment to realize Hamilton wasn't stuttering from the cold, not entirely anyway, he was trying not to _cry_. 

George put the pieces together from what little the boy had said.

It had taken him all night long to make his way back to their camp, which meant Alexander had been walking _all night long_ , during a torrential rainstorm. His Aide de Camp had mentioned more than once that he wasn't fond of water in general, and he had also at one point overheard Hercules - who had known him the longest - that it was due to a hurricane destroying his hometown when he was younger. 

No wonder the boy was so relieved to be back among allies.

Laurens was standing in the back of the crowd, and the stunned, teary-eyed look on his face said it all.

Just then, his Aide suddenly went slack in their arms as his legs gave out beneath him, his body apparently giving in to the stress it had been put through in the last day and passing out cold.

"Hercules, bring him to his quarters, Lafayette, please go and find a doctor at once.” After taking a musket ball through his calf the Marquis was in no position to help carry anyone, whereas John had been on crutches for a few days but had merely been bruised on his ankle from battle. “Laurens?” The man snapped to attention, "You're with us." 

So the three military men helped get Alexander inside, crowding into the small but warm room, Mulligan stripping the younger man off and getting him into dry clothes without so much as a flinch, the protectiveness he was radiating _unmistakably_ paternal; he saw the boy as a son, Washington had no doubts about it. Mulligan was the eldest of their quartet, being seventeen years older than Lafayette, and fourteen years older than Laurens; he’d more or less appointed himself as the guardian of all three of them, especially Alexander who he’d apparently known for several years now. If he'd doubted the strength of the young men’s bond before, he wouldn't again. Hell, they even referred to _themselves_ as the _Revolutionary Set_ from time to time.

Just as they were laying the prone Lieutenant Colonel out in his bed, the physician showed up.

He did a quick but thorough exam and informed the gathered group of anxious men; "He has bruises on his arms and legs, is dehydrated and has a moderate fever. There are also some cuts on the palms of his hands, he wrapped them with pieces of his shirt and they don't look infected, but I’ve cleaned and bandaged them just to be sure. Other than that he is uninjured. The blood doesn't appear to be his own. Let him recover from the night he has had, make sure he stays warm and try to get him to eat and drink something; Officer Hamilton should be just fine in a day or two." 

If they all let out a collective sigh of relief, could anyone really blame them? 

"Je vais trouver quelque chose à manger pour notre brave petit lion!" Lafayette announced, and looked at Hercules, the two of them having some sort of silent exchange. 

"I'm going to head out too, but I'll be back to check on the kid later." He clapped Laurens on the shoulder and said, "Keep an eye out on this one, he can't go a week without running into some sort of trouble." With that, the Frenchman and the tailor both disappeared, leaving Washington and his temporary Aide de Camp alone with Hamilton, who was still soundly asleep.

"You foolish man, you are going to worry me to death one day." Laurens told Hamilton, getting a bit choked up as he thought of how many tears he'd shed last night, with their friends trying in vain to comfort him. "When you wake up I am going to—" He stopped abruptly when the toe of his boot hit something, and the young man bent down to pick up the sopping wet satchel, "What on Earth...? He didn't have this when he left." 

John spared a glance in his General's direction before he opened the bag, and found nothing inside but some unused paper... wait, no, they were tucked around something. He unwrapped it and found two unsealed letters addressed to John Hancock. Looking them over quickly, his eyes widened, "Sir!"

Having reluctantly taken his gaze off of his boy to see what Laurens had found, he read the slightly dampened but still legible letters, and immediately called for another of his Aides, telling him to get them to Philadelphia immediately. Hamilton, having nearly drowned fleeing from British gunfire, and having to tread back the entire way on foot, still somehow found the time to pen down a warning to the Continental Congress about the no doubt imminent British invasion of the city.

His right hand man would never cease to amaze him, would he?

The boy's best friend had sat down by his side at this point, brushing his tangled auburn hair out of his face with a sigh, "Don't you ever scare me like this again, Hamilton." He ordered, before looking up at Washington and offered a small grin, "Though I suppose it should be your job to issue such a command, isn't that right, Sir?" 

In spite of himself, George allowed a brief smile to quirk upon his lips. If he thought that would actually _help_ he would have given Alexander such an order; it would likely make the young man all the more determined to prove himself.

"You'll probably want to talk to him when he wakes up." Laurens suddenly said, realizing that Washington was still simply standing there. He stood up and gave Alexander's hand a squeeze. "Oh, right, before I depart." He reached up to his neck and under the buttoned collar of his shirt to unclasp something, and pulled it out from beneath the collar of his shirt.

George felt his blood run cold.

A flower shaped sapphire pendant on a silvery chain dangled from Laurens' fingertips, a star-like pattern glittering on its surface in the daylight that shone through the window.

"What is _that?_ " His voice was evidently harsher than he intended, because John took a step back, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. He simply stared at it, his heart pounding, memories flashing through his mind rapidly as he tried to make the connection of how this pendant could possibly be here in this room right now.

"It's Alexander's," Laurens said quietly, running his fingertips over one of the petals that lined the gemstone, "He asked me to hold onto it for safe keeping for him, he does whenever he has to leave, because it was given to him by his mother when he was a child." The blond turned then and carefully placed it around Hamilton's neck, doing the clasp up and tucking it underneath his collar. "I should get going now..." He started to leave, but Washington caught the man by the arm, prompting a confused look, "Sir?"

"John, how old is Alexander?"

The young man looked between him, and the sleeping boy in the bed, his eyebrows furrowing, "I don't see how—"

" _Just answer the question_ , Major Laurens."

His shoulders tensed, realizing how dead serious his General was, "He's twenty, Sir. He turned twenty back in January, a little over a week after he joined you. May I be excused?" Washington gave a sharp nod and wordlessly released Laurens, feeling everything spin as the man left.

He took a seat, but it did him no good, he was already going through everything he thought he knew about his chief Aide de Camp, reevaluating it through a different lens.

_It can't be._

Alexander was twenty years old. He hadn't known that, but he'd assumed he was young, though his guess had been closer to his stepson's age of twenty-two. To realize he was little more than a boy wasn't that much of a shock. He wanted to be a soldier, not an Aide de Camp, but he had agreed to Washington's proposal because he was desperate to prove himself and knew an opportunity when he saw one. The boy came here alone, Alexander had implied but not outright stated that he was either an orphan or estranged from his family in the Caribbean, multiple times in the months George had known him. He didn't know the specifics, but the young man had mentioned his mother having been ill, perhaps that was what killed her.

_No, you don’t know she’s dead. What else?_

He came from an island in the West Indies, and had no money or legacy to speak of, which was why he was so damned determined to earn his own.

Though he was not on the tall side, he was strong for his size, he was someone who was accustomed to working hard to get the things he wanted. His eyes were a unique shade of blue, and looked nearly violet in certain lights. Just like the pendant he wore around his neck. _Oh my God_. His hair was not as dark as most of those who came from the islands, instead it was a reddish shade of brown that sometimes shone a nearly golden color in the sunlight. Not unusual for those who bore a Scottish family name, as Hamilton did, and yet..

The shade of it reminded him of his sister.

_No, no, no, no, no._

It was all coming together like some sort of horrific puzzle in which he'd only just found the missing pieces.

The temper, his fierce independence, the hatred of looking weak or being spoken negatively to, the _refusal_ to stand down, the objection to taking orders unless he absolutely had to, his desire for glory in a childish but startlingly familiar way, and his inability to find satisfaction; he always wanted to get more done, to be doing more, be _seen_ as more...

The fact that George _knew_ there was something special about the boy from the first moment he lay his eyes upon him.

_Even God could not be that cruel to him._

__Alexander... Alexander had to be the child of Rachel Faucette, the woman he had left back on Nevis, whom George had given that necklace to as a farewell gift, a reminder of the blissful few weeks they had spent together.__

His son. 

The boy was his _son_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French - English Translation courtesy of Google Translate: 
> 
> Mon Dieu, pas notre petit lion, s'il te plait... = My God, not our little lion, please...
> 
> John et Hercules avoir ont perdu un amant et un fils ce soir et moi un frère = John and Hercules have lost a lover and son tonight, and I a brother 
> 
> Cela va lui briser le cœur = It will break his heart
> 
> Je vais trouver quelque chose à manger pour notre brave petit lion! = I’m going to find something to eat for our brave little lion!
> 
> Fun Fact: At the time of the Schuylkill River incident (September 18th, 1777), the Continental Army was staying in Yellow Springs Tavern/Warwick Furnace Farms (check Wikipedia, it has a list of GW's headquarters during the War, complete with dates), which is in Chester County. When Captain Lee assumed Hamilton dead and told everyone, Hamilton had swam across the river and started back towards their base. He arrived back just as/shortly after Washington received the news. 
> 
> Which means Alexander traveled approximately 6-10 HOURS, on foot, and made it back not long after his comrades did, his comrades who were on horses. What a badass.
> 
> Sorry if I fucked up Laf's title, I honestly can't tell where his first name begins and his last name ends. I know 'Marquis' is a title and not actually his name. I've seen his name written as Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, but that implies Lafayette is not actually a part of his name, but his title (du Motier is his surname), which makes no sense to me because his FULL name is listed as "Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette" which is too damn much, and idk if lower ranking officers (who would be required to address him respectfully) would have addressed him as "Major General du Motier" or what so I'm just guessing lol.


	6. Resolution

_September, 1777_

George Washington didn't sleep that night. 

He should have, since he hadn't had much rest the night before after being told Alexander was dead; but with his recent revelation he found himself even less inclined to sleep than ever. 

Instead, he made sure his Aide de Camp was comfortably situated, allowing him time to recover from his exhaustion. Sitting in a chair a few feet away, half-emptied decanter set off to the side, he watched the boy for a moment as he slept, as if to commit the fact that he was fine to heart. He wasn't dead, was luckily not even injured. He could put that horrid evening from yesterday behind him. Still, the image was harder to shake than he would have liked. Alexander, shot. Bleeding to death at the bottom of the godforsaken river. Alone. He forced his thoughts to turn away from the horror he'd felt reading Knox's letter. 

The man had already lost a child once. 

His sweet, innocent stepdaughter, Patsy, whom he had raised from the time she was a toddler, had passed away a few years back, and he still felt that loss whenever he thought about her, like it was a physical wound. But he had known for years that he would most likely outlive her; she had been ill before reaching adolescence, and her seizing fits had grown more frequent and volatile the older she got. Despite their unimaginable grief, he and Martha had not been shocked when she was taken from them at the too-young age of seventeen. 

Now, he sat at the bedside of another child, one whom he had begun to consider his own despite his best efforts to avoid a close personal connection with his men.

Aides-de-Camp were rarely far from their commanders' side, and when the vast majority of them were intelligent, studious young men eager to prove themselves, it was difficult not to form an attachment. Alexander had managed to dig himself a place deep in Washington's heart in the short nine months they had known one another; and for a single horrible, devastating evening, he had believed the boy to be dead, killed during a mission _George_ had sent him on. The pain that gripped him was one he was too familiar with now; he never wanted to outlive someone else he loved again. 

The difference between Patsy Parke Custis and Alexander Hamilton, was that the latter was actually his own flesh and blood. 

It shouldn't have mattered, a child was a child regardless of if they shared a common ancestor, when you raised someone the way he had Patsy, you couldn't help but to love them, because you raised them, watched them grow and flourish. You were supposed to do the same for your own children, adopted or blood, because it was your responsibility to be there for them. Loving them was as natural as the need to breathe.

_Oh, Alexander. I’m sorry._

He hadn't known.

Washington stared down at the letter sitting in his lap, one which he had received nearly a decade ago, in mid-February of 1768, he had held onto it for many years, had even taken it with him when he left Mount Vernon. 

The name and return address stared up at him accusingly. 

**_Rachel Faucette Buck_ **   
**_34 Company Street_ **   
**_St. Croix, Danish West Indies_ **   
**_Colony of Denmark-Norway_ **

He knew the letter by heart at this point, so he needn't read it to know what it said; the majority of it had summarized what she had been up to since they had parted, how she and her common law partner, James Sr., had separated following their moving back to St. Croix, how she had opened a small shop beneath her home to support her family, a fact she was quite proud of.

The most surprising thing to him when he’d first read it was the fact she was even in St. Croix; the Rachel he had known had despised that place, because of her despicable first husband, and the hellish prison she’d been sent to. She’s told him she would never set foot on it again.

But the final paragraph still jumped out at him the most.

_I have taken ill since the beginning of the New Year, and though the doctor has told me that I am recovering and will be well again soon, I find my thoughts drifting to you more often than not. My Love, I would like nothing more than to see you again, for it would most assuredly lift my spirits. I have so many things I wish to tell you, and I promise that something awaits you that will more than make up for any inconveniences this request may burden upon you; if you could find the time to escape away from the British Colonies and visit me for a few days, you will have made me the happiest woman alive once again._

_Forever Yours, Rachel_

May God forgive him, he hadn't _known_.

If he had any idea what she had needed to tell him, he wouldn't have hesitated for a single moment, not even at the risk of incurring the ire of his wife. 

George had wanted his own child for years; he and Martha had been trying since the night of their marriage, to no success. He had assumed himself barren, as she had successfully bore children of her first husband. But he had continued to hold out hope, up until he was called to the war. 

It had taken him nearly a month of deliberation before he had replied to Rachel's correspondence. He had never been an eloquent speaker or writer, so it was with a heavy feeling in his chest he had picked up the quill and explained to her that while he appreciated her reaching out, he was now happily married and could not justify it within himself to leave his family in order to visit a past love. 

He hadn't known what she was really saying, between her lines. 

What had she wanted to tell him? 

_I am dying, George. Please, come here, I want to see you one last time. We have a son together, a beautiful and brilliant son. You’re going to utterly adore him. His name is—_

He shut his eyes, swallowing the raging emotions his line of thought drew out, thinking of his response to her. He had inquired about her health, and that of her boy James, wishing her the very best and apologetically explaining that he would love to see her, but that it would not be an appropriate decision to make. Against his better judgement, his affection had shone through in the final sentences, referring to her by an old term of an affection he had used during their short time together. 

Over a month later, the letter had been returned to him, unopened, with a notice attached that the address he had sent it to - the one Rachel had sent her letter from - was either incorrect or no longer occupied. He had felt a moment of concern, but it was soon forgotten as he became more politically involved, joining the upper ranks of Virginia, a constant stream of guests pouring in and out of Mount Vernon. George had assumed she had changed her mind about wishing to see him, or had moved, but either way it was clear she had never read his letter. 

Now, he had to wonder whether or not it was because she was already dead by the time he had written her back. 

He hoped not; the thought of Alexander growing up without either of his parents by his side, because of _him..._

An intense pain gripped at his heart. 

_Rachel... forgive me..._

Transferring his gaze over to the young man curled up beneath the blankets, feeling a lump swelling in his throat as shame and guilt filled him.

What had Alexander gone through because he had unknowingly left a woman he had loved pregnant with his child? How much had he suffered because his mother had been left to raise two children alone, and if she had indeed been dead for sometime, how had Alexander grown into such a remarkable young man on his own? This was his fault. George hadn't gone to see her, why hadn’t he answered sooner?

Yet, somehow, despite never having received his return letter, and giving no indication that he had any idea Washington had once known his mother, the boy had still somehow managed to find his way to him.

It must have been fate.

* * *

Sometime, in the middle of the night, Alexander seemingly began to stir. 

The young man was still feverish, but he hadn't shown any signs of discomfort before; his exhaustion must have been profound for him to sleep steadily through most of the day and a good fraction of the night. So, when his Aide began to mumble and groan in his sleep, he assumed that it was a sign he had come down with illness, which would have not shocked Washington given he had spent the previous evening walking several miles in the pouring rain to return to them. Alexander twisted under the blankets and whimpered as though he was in pain. 

Rising from his seat, the General was about to hastily summon a doctor, when Hamilton spoke suddenly, catching him off guard. 

"James? Jemmy, is that you?" 

He turned away from the door and found Alexander sitting up in the bed, his eyes slightly glazed over, dark auburn hair tangled around his face, which was pale with the exception of his flushed cheeks. He looked utterly _wretched_. 

It took a moment of confusion before he realized the boy was speaking to _him_ ; evidently his fever had left him delirious, if he could mistake Washington for his (half) brother he presumably hadn't seen in years. With a concerned frown, the man made his way back over to the bed, reaching out to brush the back of his hand over Alexander's forehead, nearly wincing at the heat radiating off of him. 

"Hamilton, James isn't here right now. Do you know who I am?" He asked calmly. 

It didn't escape his notice the way the young writer leaned into his hand, not unlike a feline who was looking to be pet.

Alexander didn't seem to hear him at first, he was drawing random patterns with his fingertips along the bed sheet, "General Washington?"

He smiled, "That's right. Do you remember where you are?"

The boy yawned and squinted at his superior, before glancing around the room, "Mr. Stevens house." He said confidently. 

_Who?_

"No, Alexander."

A look of uncertainty crossed his Aide's face, "...King's College?" 

Washington sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand against the sick boy's back, "You're in Pennsylvania."

"...Oh." His face scrunched up in disgust. _"Why?"_

If he hadn't been worried about the young man's condition, George would have laughed at his response, "Because, you joined the Revolution?" 

Alexander seemed to accept that answer, for all his obvious confusion, because he nodded to himself and laid back down, "Right. I remember. We're going to be heroes and win the war, and then we're going to get all the slaves freed and make a country we can be proud of." His eyes drifted shut.

"We?" 

"John and Laf and I." His son told him as he settled against the pillows. "We have already started writing the essays. It's going to be wonderful, Dad, just you wait. Everyone will be so happy." 

Washington froze at the term, gray blue eyes darting down to the young man, who seemed to already be dozing off. 

Clearly, Alexander had no idea what he was saying, the boy had rebuked anything remotely resembling paternal concern from most people, the General included - although he had not expressly said so, he appeared to desire nothing beyond a professional relationship. The only one who seemed to be allowed to get away with such behavior was Mulligan, presumably because he had known him the longest, from what he knew at least. 

It occurred to him then that, aside from some of his more noteworthy accomplishments and where he was from, he really didn't know that much about Alexander at all. 

What was his childhood like? How had he come to the decision to come to the Colonies in the first place? What made him want to be a soldier, of all things?

Had he been looked after, when his mother had passed away? 

Guilt and curiosity gnawed at the man, and he realized he would need to seek out these answers sooner than later, perhaps it would give him a better idea on how to approach Alexander with a relationship that he would be comfortable with.

He wanted to get to know his son; in the middle of war, you never wanted to wait until it was too late.

* * *

"Good evening, Laurens." 

John spun around in surprise when he heard the General's voice suddenly speak up behind him. _How did he **do** that? _

He quickly attempted a bow but the action was aborted when he saw the man grimace slightly, remembering that he despised such shows of formality, "Evening, your Excellency. Can I help you with something, Sir?" A thought occurred to him, and concern marred his expression, "Is everything okay with Alexander? Has his condition worsened?" 

"Hamilton is fine," Washington reassured the younger man, watching him relax in relief. "His fever was a little high earlier but it has gone down again after taking a dosage of quinine powder. I actually wanted to speak with you privately about him, if you don't mind?" 

Laurens gaze shot up to his General's face, something resembling nervousness in the blond-haired boy's eyes. 

"Of course, Sir. What is it?" 

The two of them were best friends, if anyone could tell him more about Alexander, it would be him.

"It has occurred to me that despite working in close quarters for close on a year now with Hamilton, he isn't very forthcoming about his past." He began, watching as the Major's lips parted slightly in surprise. "In his papers he gave as little information as possible, and reviewing them has made me wonder whether or not he has something to hide." He saw John's expression shift and realized he was about to jump to his son's defense, and added, "I'm not questioning his loyalty. Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton pushes himself tirelessly every day for the sake of our cause, I've never met someone so willing to forgo his own health in order to increase his quality of work. I'm referring to the fact that despite having been here years, few of us know anything about him."

"...Hamilton is a very private person, Sir." Laurens told him, after giving his words a moment of thought. 

George inclined his head in agreement, "Indeed. Which was why I was hoping you could enlighten me on his behalf." 

_Oh!_

Laurens clasped his hands behind his back, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, "With all due respect, your Excellency, would it not be more prudent to simply ask Hamilton himself about his childhood?" He suggested, knowing full well how awkward that conversation was likely to be, but thinking it the lesser of two evils than Alexander finding out Washington had asked him for details on his former life. "He trusts and respects you a great deal, Sir, or he never would have agreed to a primarily off-field role in the war. I've heard him say as much. I don't think he deliberately withholds his personal history from you, so much as from himself." He explained, after seeing the man's skeptical look. 

"What do you mean by that?" George questioned. 

John sighed; he was going to have to give him something. 

Maybe this was his chance to help. Alexander was always so guarded around everyone; but it was painfully obvious to him, Herc, and Lafayette that Washington was protective and filial towards him. In fact, everyone seemed to be aware of the surrogate father-son dynamic between them except for Alex. 

"John?"

At the other man's prompt, he turned his back on the General, "You will have to ask Hamilton about it yourself, Sir. But let me put it this way - Alexander has mentioned on more than one occasion since our first meeting that he would sooner eat his own pistol than ever willingly set foot in the Caribbean again, especially St. Croix." He told him, biting his tongue after the blunt response so he would not say more. 

Whether that was what Washington wanted or expected to hear, he didn't know; but the man left without another word. 

He hoped the two straightened out their complex relationship soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to anyone living in Pennsylvania lol.


	7. A Late Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander finds himself roped into an evening conversation with the General that takes a personal turn; and seems to upset him more than it does Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to suicide, self harm, child abandonment, trauma and verbal and physical (child) abuse, just a fair warning!
> 
> Also sorry if it's too OOC, I wrote this at like 2am after getting blood drawn so I may have to go back and revise a few things. I wanted to make people cry, but I think I may have overdone it.

_September, 1777_

Washington rubbed a hand over his face wearily as he finished signing his name to the missive and returned the quill to the ink pot, releasing a tired sigh. 

He had taken for granted the efficiency that Hamilton's presence gave his staff, in more ways than one; his Aide de Camp not only did an almost obscene amount of work in a twenty four hour period, often relying on a limited amount of sleep and breaks, but his absurdly high standards that he had set upon himself tended to push the other aides to work harder too; in addition, their concern over their fellow Lieutenant Colonel's weakened state was interrupting their concentration. Not that George could blame them, he was worried for the boy himself. 

It was no secret to the camp that the General's military family, as he called them, treated him like an honorary younger brother, despite him more often than not acting as the _de facto_ Chief of Staff to Washington.

Thankfully, he seemed to be recovering well, a day later and his fever had lowered dramatically, although he was still not quite ready to resume his duties yet, due to the exhaustion he'd suffered; exhaustion which, the doctor had informed him on the side while the others were occupied with visiting Alexander, had not been _entirely_ caused by his hours-long trek through the pouring rain, but from weeks, or even _months_ , of secretly neglecting his own biological needs and depriving himself of proper rest. 

As soon as he was in adequate enough health for it, the General intended to give Alexander a lecture he wouldn't soon forget about taking care of his body.

The Army’s situation may be looking bleak, but there was _zero_ excuse for him to be skipping meals and sleep for the sake of staying up all night doing Washington's God damned paperwork. 

Just as he was contemplating setting the rest of the letters he needed to respond to aside for the night, a piercing scream suddenly ripped through the quiet of the night, instantly turning his blood to ice in his veins. He would recognize that voice even in his sleep.

_Alexander!_

The Commander-in-Chief was up and out of his seat in a matter of seconds, sprinting down the hallway towards Hamilton's room and unceremoniously throwing the door open, hand already on his weapon - the brass and wood flintlock pistol that General Braddock had given him in 1755, the year of his death - and ready to face whatever he found in there, a would-be assassin or a sneaky Redcoat trying to plot a surprise attack on them or—

...or his recently discovered illegitimate son, snarled in his bed-covers, lashing out desperately with his eyes still closed, his face twisted into one of sheer terror. 

"No, no! Please don't!" He cried out as the man stood frozen in his surprise and uncertainty, "Please, stop, let go of me! _Je ne suis pas un esclave!_ "

Realizing after a few moments that Alexander was not in danger, but suffering from a nightmare, George started to make a move towards him when someone else barreled into the room, nearly knocking the man over in his hurry.

Laurens.

Unlike himself, John made no move to draw his weapon, but with an almost practiced approach rushed to Alexander's side and held his face in both hands, speaking in a calm, semi-loud tone, "Hamilton, wake up, there's no danger. Hamilton! _Alexander, it's just a dream_." As if by magic, the sickly Aide's eyes flew open as a gasp left him, his expression caught between one of panic and fear, which seemed to quickly melt into understanding as he met Laurens' gaze.

"J-John?"

The other man released Alexander's head and took his hand instead, "Yes. It's okay. _You're_ okay, Hamilton."

Washington mutely watched as the young man struggled to sit up, still flushed with slight fever, and yanked open the buttons of his shirt collar all of a sudden, gripping at his shoulder blade as though he were in pain, "Is it—"

"Hey, it's okay. It didn't happen." Laurens helped the younger man pull down the sleeve as his son twisted to get a look at something. A slightly raised red mark no larger than the size of a finger nail, easy to overlook to anyone not paying attention to it. It almost resembled a burn of some sort. 

Tracing over it with the tips of his fingers, Alexander let out a noise that sounded like a sob, sagging against his friend in relief, "I... I thought..."

"Shhh, I know, I know... You're safe now, my dear Hamilton." Wrapping his arms around the other, John stroked his friend's long, tangled waves of hair, until he'd stopped shaking. Catching sight of Washington out of the corner of his eye he stiffened slightly, apparently not having realized he had been standing there the whole time, and Alexander lifted his head when he felt the movement, following the blond's gaze.

Blue-violet eyes, still sparkling with tears, widened at the sight of the General and he sat up straight, "Your Excellency! I-I didn't see you there, I..." He took in his own state, hair a mess, shirt collar open and tangled in his blanket, weeping like a child. Alexander's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, "I apologize for my current presentation, Sir, if I knew you were coming I would have... tidied up..." he said, swallowing as he did up his shirt buttons again, inching away from Laurens to sit back against the headboard, trying and failing to subtly wipe his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. 

Despite the still lingering concern, Washington felt his eyebrows raise slightly, "I came because I heard you screaming bloody murder, Hamilton. I was certain by the sounds that you were making that I was going to burst in on you being killed; are you alright?" he asked as John stood up from the bed and awkwardly offered a belated salute. 

"Screaming?" Alexander wilted and averted his gaze, "I apologize, Sir, I-I didn't mean to—"

He cut him off, "There's no controlling nightmares, young man, they are an unfortunate consequence of life and you needn’t apologize to me for having one. How are you feeling?" 

Alexander's gaze flickered between him and Laurens, before returning his gaze to his superior, "Better, I suppose. I still feel a little warm, but there's no pain in my arms or legs anymore." Seeing the worried look on his face, he quickly added, "I may have slipped and fallen a couple of times in my journey back ho—back to camp, I mean. Just some bruises, nothing to preoccupy yourself with." He covered his slip well, but Washington still knew what he was about to say; _home_. He considered this his home, or as close as he could have to one in the middle of a war.

Somehow, instead of being sad, it warmed something in George's chest.

"I'm glad to hear it, still I believe it best for you to remain off-duty until you've fully recovered." The fact that Alexander didn't _instantly_ start arguing with him over that only confirmed that he was still shaken up by whatever his dream had been about. And _what on Earth_ was that scar on the boy's shoulder blade? "Will you be returning to sleep for the evening, then?" 

Hamilton noticeably grimaced, "If it's all the same to you, Sir, I would... _strongly_ _prefer_ not to."

Not surprising; going back to sleep immediately after waking from a nightmare was practically inviting another one to occur. 

"I can't say I blame you. Since I assume you'll be otherwise unoccupied for the evening, would you mind joining me for a drink in the study in an hour or so?" He requested, and saw out of the corner of his eye Laurens looking directly at him. "There's something I wish to discuss with you, when you're feeling up for it, that is."

Alexander's gaze had sharpened at his commander's words, and while he didn't seem shocked by the request, he did look slightly nervous. 

"I... would be honored, your Excellency."

* * *

Loathe though he was to admit it, the additional hour he had before their meeting was not because George wanted to give his Aide de Camp enough time to compose himself after the upsetting dream he had experienced that had left the poor boy in tears. No, it was because the General himself needed that time to try and figure out what the hell he was going to _say_. 

He wouldn't tell Alexander of his suspected ~~certain~~ parentage, that much he knew, not until he could discern whether Hamilton had his own family back on the islands, or whether he felt like anything of a son to Washington. The last thing the young man needed was to have an unwanted obligation to see him as a father forced on him, if that was not how he viewed their relationship. His invitation was purely to reassess the bond between them, and if he could, find out more about Hamilton's childhood, if only to reassure _himself_ that he hadn't truly abandoned his son to the life of an orphan.

Surely there had been _someone_ in his life to care for him, or he wouldn't have survived as long as he had, right? 

It shouldn't have taken seeing the necklace for him to realize in the first place — looking into those vivid blue eyes should have been the only clue he needed to recognize see that the woman who had birthed this remarkable young man was the same one he had fallen for on Nevis so many years ago. He exhaled quietly and chose a sprite from his collection, resisting the urge to pour himself an early drink; he doubted anything could help him calm his nerves right now, when he was about to have his first private conversation with Alexander since his discovery of their relationship.

As though he had been timing it, Washington heard a gentle rap against the door exactly one hour later, and after a moment Hamilton’s head hesitantly poked in, “Sir.”

_ You of all people don’t need to address me that way, son. _

He didn’t say it out loud, but instead beckoned the younger soldier to enter his office, which he did. 

Even in the gentle light provided by the dying flames in the fireplace, he could tell Alexander was still not feeling well; he was pale and shivery, and the moment he stumbled, Washington was on his feet to help him get to a chair. 

“—Alexander!” He put his arm around the boy and supported him until he was sitting, then promptly crouched by his side, the father in him seizing control as he brushed Hamilton’s bangs, which had come loose from his queue, from his face, feeling the heat seep into his skin as the back of his hand made contact with his forehead.  “You’re burning up again, let me escort you back to your chambers—”

Alexander shook his head immediately, “No, Sir, I’ll be fine.” He protested, “You requested to see me for a reason, yes?”

He was speaking coherently but George was concerned about the slightly glazed look in his eyes. “Another time, perhaps, my dear boy...”

The hand suddenly gripping the General’s wrist brought his attention back to Alexander’s face, surprised by the twinge of panic he saw in his eyes, _Rachel’s eyes_. “No, please Sir... Laurens has retired for the evening, on my insistence, and I...” he trailed off, lowering his gaze as his cheeks turned a dusty pink. “I find myself rather... indisposed to be by myself right now." In other words, _please don't leave me alone when I'm feeling unwell_.

George swallowed, and nodded softly before rising to his feet again, “Very well. Let me just pour you a drink then...” his Aide de Camp seemed to sag with relief against the floral upholstery of the seat.

The decanter was opened and two glasses filled with the potent amber liquid, passing one to Alexander who clutched it carefully between his hands with a murmur of thanks.

It didn’t escape his notice that the boy’s shivers lessened somewhat after a couple of sips as the smooth drink warmed him from the inside.  George was silent for a long moment, and only when he heard the young man quietly clear his throat did it occur to him he hadn’t yet said anything. Hamilton knee this visit wasn’t entirely for social enjoyment; he was awaiting for the emergence of the General.

“Hamilton?”

Alexander inclined his head, fiddling with his shirt sleeve uneasily, “Sir?”

He observed him quietly, “You’ve been working on my staff for going on nine months now, correct?”

Violet orbs widened almost imperceptibly, “Y-Yes Sir...” he cursed the stutter in his voice, clearing his throat before attempting to speak again, "That is correct; it's been two hundred and fifty-eight days give or take since you offered me my current position," he said, causing Washington to blink in surprise. The boy cast his gaze towards the clock, and rectified his response. "Or eight months and fifteen—no, make that sixteen days, if I have the correct date in mind. Although you didn't _officially_ announce me as your Aide until March..."

"You've been counting the days you've been serving me?" George inquired, his mouth curling up into a small, amused smile. 

Alexander promptly flushed, "Not consciously, Sir. I just happened to remember how long it's been since we met, that's all. I have a peculiar memory, always have." Seeing the politely confused expression on his superior's face, he peered down into his glass at the dark liquid, trying to think of a way to put it into words. "I imagine it as a book in some ways, Sir. When you read a book, you might recall the overall plot, the characters, and the ending along with perhaps an important twist or two, but you'll not remember everything perfectly. However, if you read it multiple times, after a while, you begin to more clearly anticipate what's going to happen next, and those important moments stand out especially well, you learn to expect them." 

"I'm afraid I don't quite see where you're going with this, son." Washington admitted, puzzled by the line of thought the other was presenting. 

Hamilton resisted the urge to grimace at the familial term, but continued nonetheless, "I've come to consider my mind akin to a novel, Sir. Without even really consciously thinking of it, I can get lost in my own memories. It's like flipping through a book I've already completed, over and over. I can recall most of my life with clarity as far back as my toddler years," he admitted, to the other man's astonishment. "Though I find everything is much sharper between the age of nine and, well, _now_. It's strange... one minute I could be speaking with someone and they will say something that reminds me of another event, which in turn reminds me of another, and suddenly I've traveled back a decade or more to a time long past. It's like fantasizing, but everything I remember has actually happened, and not necessarily to _me_ , either... if it's important enough, I can usually remember without even trying. Does that make any sense?" 

The General was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, mulling over the scenario presented to him, trying to imagine what it was like to be able to, suddenly, be thrust back into your own memories by something only scarcely related. "I think so, although I must say it sounds rather tiresome." 

"Quite," Alexander chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. "Truly, certain things are better left forgotten, but I've grown used to it over the years." 

"Although I suppose it does help to explain your extraordinary talents, to some degree."

His head tilted slightly to the side, "What do you mean?"

* * *

_What did he mean?_

Sometimes, Washington had to actively resist the urge to laugh at the young man. 

He didn't want to be cruel but for someone so incredibly bright and perceptive, Alexander could be utterly _oblivious_ at times. He was confident enough in himself that the man was fairly sure it wasn't just a bluff, and yet he needed clarification that George thought he was utterly brilliant? He was trying not to grin, but the confused look on the boy's face nearly broke his composure. "What I mean, dear Hamilton, is that you are an exceptional young man, even though I find you to be something of an enigma. Anyone who's read your writing should be able to see that, my boy." 

That answer didn't appear to satisfy Alexander, because of course it didn't. Probably another trait shared between father and son.

"I... thank you, Sir," he replied, genuinely flattered by the praise. "But I'm afraid I still don't quite understand," he confessed, albeit rather begrudgingly. "How, exactly, am I an enigma? I’ve been operating under the assumption that my opinions on any given subject were quite clear, no matter how unpopular they might be." Just the question he was hoping to be asked; and he could see the moment when Alexander realized it, _percipient indeed_ , and a look of worry flashed across his face, realizing a moment too late he had been lead into a trap. 

"I was referring to your tendency to keep to yourself, in regards to personal matters." Washington told him before raising his glass to his lips and sipping it. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Alexander? I know so little about you, outside of your career that is."

Just because he did not display his observations openly, not often at least, did not mean he hadn't made any, especially about this one.

 _Oh_. Hamilton's eyes widened and darted away from his commanding officer, as if searching for an escape route. "...I'm afraid there's not much to tell..." His words were clear, but his mouth had turned down ever so slightly at the corners, an obvious tell that the boy was lying. Why? What was it that made a man as bold as he so keen to keep himself hidden from the rest of the world?

"Come now, you needn't be so guarded around me; we're not working at the moment, Hamilton. Don't think of me as your commander."

Before he could stop himself, Hamilton blurted out, "I'm not sure I could see you as anything else, Sir."

Washington tried... _very_ hard, not to let it show the effect that admission at on him; tried, and evidently failed, if the horror his Aide de Camp's eyes now reflected were anything to go by. Before he could think of something to say, Alexander was launching forward into a quick, panicked spiel, "I'm so sorry, Sir! I didn't mean it like that, at all! I just meant, I have a difficult time separating personal and professional relationships to those around me, and I don't think myself capable of putting your... your superiority over me aside even during casual conversation." His face was deeply flushed now, giving away just how mortified the young man was. "My deepest apologies, Sir, I-I didn't mean to insinuate I don't see you as a person beyond your rank, _please_ forgive me."

"Hamilton..."

Above all else, what stung the most was probably that Hamilton didn’t even realize _why_ his remark had hurt. It was the insinuation that he could never see their connection as more than that of a junior and senior officer, rather than the fact that he had accidentally written off George as a soldier instead of a man, that _wounded_ him.

In that moment he was nothing more than a father desperately scrambling to branch a closer relationship to the son whose entire life he had missed out on.

George damned himself for his own reserved nature; perhaps if he were more emotionally available, Hamilton would not consider it improper to be honest with him. Alas, his position meant he couldn’t afford to be an open book around anyone, not even the most trusted members of his staff.

_Oh, my dear boy, how do you not see? Is it not abundantly clear just how much I care for you?_

He was still talking, "Alexander—"

"—and you know I really am terrible at holding my liquor, ask anyone. _Except_ Mulligan, what happened with the bar stool back in New York was _not_ my fault, and honestly, the man was asking for it! I really didn't need him to step in, I had it all under control—"

What in the Lord's name was he going on about?

George didn't know whether to laugh or cry, this night was going precisely as he had expected it to, which was to say, it was going abysmally. "Lieutenant Colonel!"

 _That_ got his attention, finally. 

Alexander's mouth snapped shut mid-rant and he somehow both jerked to attention yet sank deeper into his seat in embarrassment at the same time, murmuring profuse apologies into his nearly empty glass. Poor boy looked a wreck, and he couldn't tell if it was due to sickness or discomfort. 

"Easy, son. I'm not cross with you, all is forgiven. I did not invite you here tonight so I could fray your senses," He reached towards the younger man and refilled his glass. At the very least it would help calm his nerves; and, if it helped loosen the boy's tongue on matters besides bizarre college mishaps, then that would only be a plus, on his side at least. Still, he felt a pang of guilt for causing him such anxiety over having accidentally misspoken. "It was just a question, you don't need to answer it if you don't wish, I'll not fault you for wanting to keep our relationship professional." He reassured, hoping to loosen the tension in his child's shoulders.

Alexander stared into the drink for a long moment, contemplating, and then - to his complete bewilderment - suddenly threw his head back and downed the drink in one gulp, barely even wincing as the amber liquid burned his throat, and _then_ : "I'm technically a bastard."

Dead silence.

Washington had expected a similar retraction of that statement, or at least an equal amount of regret for having spewed such a personal fact out, but rather than rueful, Hamilton just looked... _exhausted_. Bitter and sad; it aged his face in a way that churned his gut. The news didn't surprise him; how could it? But he still had to ask... "Pardon me?" 

Hamilton had yet to set his empty glass down, and was instead fidgeting with it, as though he had an excess amount of energy he needed to expel in some way in order to stay seated. Finally, he looked up, heaving a breath, "I was born in the Caribbean, you knew that already, on the British island of Nevis. But I was not raised there. When I was still young, my mother and father moved to St. Croix."

The younger man had only just begun, but already George could feel the trepidation creeping up on him.

 _St. Croix_. 

He knew the name of course, Rachel could not hide - nor did she ever attempt to - her utter disdain for the place. It was on that island where she endured a miserable five years married to Johann Lavien, later imprisoned on some trumped up charge of bigamy in Fort Christianvaern, a place known even in the Colonies for its stunning cruelty, because she refused to live with him. She had fled the island with her mother after her release and had vowed never to return, leaving her husband and their only child together behind in an effort to scrub the memories from her mind. 

It was almost impossible to believe she would ever willingly go back there. But she had addressed her letter to him from there. Now, he finally understood why she had stayed; she had two children to look after instead of one, it would have been easier to settle instead of paying passage for all three of them back to Nevis.

Before he could finish processing this news, Alexander, apparently finally in the mood to share, dropped even more on him, "Things went from bad to worse there, though. Jemmy and I, we knew our parents weren't technically married, we just pretended otherwise, you see? Because the dreadful beast of a man my grandmother had wed her to was fit as neither husband nor father. She took James Hamilton’s surname, she loved _him_. But my father, he was a poor businessman. Oh, he tried his best, but the debt kept building up and on top of the reputation my mother had been slandered with in her absence from St. Croix, I think it got to be too much for him... He couldn't support us any longer..." The boy got quiet, suddenly. Very quiet. "He left the summer after I turned ten. I've not seen him since." 

That... that explained far too much.

Perhaps not his Aide’s tendency to keep his personal matters tucked away, but at the very least it highlighted Hamilton’s reasons for certain behaviours he had oft questioned. Why he balked at being addressed as son, the look of uneasy happiness whenever he was praised; his emphasis that when he has children he will teach them all he knows and love them ‘til his dying breath. 

Because his father had left him.

Something that never would have happened if George had convinced Rachel to come back to Virginia with him.

Washington wanted to be angry; at James Hamilton for leaving Rachel and Alexander and even James Jr., his true son, without any regard for their well-being, but as much as he hated it, he empathized with the man. Aside from his somewhat lazy behavior, Rachel had nothing but good things to say about her sometimes spouse, he knew she genuinely loved him, and who was George to judge someone for their financial status? That hadn't been an issue in his life in a long time, if ever. 

Part of him even wanted to be upset with Alexander, for defending the man, for being unhappy instead of wrathful, but he _couldn't_. 

James had not been his father by blood, but he had helped raise him for ten years; he had been just as much the boy's father as George was to Patsy and Jacky; he had given him his family name. His own father's name even, as if he saw both boys equally as his sons, and he had to have known Alexander wasn't his; even assuming he had returned from his ventures within days of George's departure, Rachel could have been a month pregnant by then, and she wasn't the type to lie anyways. So somewhere in him, the man must have loved those children equally. James Alexander Hamilton Jr. and Alexander Hamilton, both named after the Laird of Grange. He had left, but at least he had been there for a time, which was more than Washington had any claim to.

He needed to say something, even though it felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, "Hamilton—"

Alexander flinched as if the sound of his own surname physically wounded him, "That's not even the worst part, you know? I'd heard the taunts before. _Creole bastard_. _Whore-son_. _Mulatto brat_. None of it was new to me even when the other children threw stones at us as we walked down the street," he continued, completely unaware of the General's breaking heart. "The worst part is that they were right. They told us that our mother's inclinations would damn us. I assumed they meant we would go to Hell. Perhaps I will; it would have been more than enough to have been simply forsaken in the afterlife, but no... everyone I love had to start disappearing." His voice cracked near the end.

George's hands were shaking. 

"What... do you mean?" 

He couldn't even pretend to look away as Alexander wiped the tears from his eyes, sorrow written into every inch of his face. "It began with father leaving. Shortly after that my grandma, Mary, passed away. Then my aunt Ann and uncle James went back to Nevis after their son ran away with their slaves and ruined their name," he hiccuped on his words. "Aunt Ann died, and then Aunt Jemima, and suddenly Mama was the last Faucette sibling alive; her brother John died before I was born and none of her other siblings survived to adulthood. She did her best for us, opened up a shop and made sure we never went hungry or cold. Women on St. Croix weren't expected to do more than gossip, sip tea and entertain company. She went against the _status quo_ so many times... her luck had to run out eventually..."

"Alexander?"

_He can't mean..._

"We both became sick when I was eleven... they tried everything; bleeding, purgatives, but nothing helped. I thought I was surely going to succumb, we’d been barely clinging onto our lives for _weeks..._ but I didn't." Alexander was barely attempting to stem the flow of tears cascading down his cheeks. "She died holding me." He whispered, and Washington crumpled against his chair in grief. "All I wanted was to join her, but I just couldn't seem to die, I started recovering a couple of days later. I thought... I thought _maybe_ Father would come back when he heard the news, but he didn't. We were going to be okay though, at least I thought we were. I mean, our half brother took us to court—" the man's mouth twisted into a half furious, half depressed frown. "—we never really had a shot at keeping her inheritance to us under the same law that imprisoned her for leaving her vile wretch of a husband, but at least we had each other. And our cousin, Peter, he took us in without complaint, even though it strained his finances."

_Alexander, please stop._

"Did he take proper care of you?" George managed to ask, his voice weak. 

He felt as hollowed out as his son looked.

No, not hollow, all the man could feel was pain, and overwhelming _guilt_.

Hamilton barked out a laugh that sounded cold and angry and way too cynical to be coming from the idealistic boy he knew... _thought_ he knew, anyways. "He treated us like we were his younger brothers, but it wasn't enough to save us from the curse that follows me everywhere I go. Peter had demons he was battling and the financial strain we added to his life didn't help." The young man who looked more like a boy than George had ever seen him stared up at the ceiling, his eyes still shining with fresh tears. "He took a knife to himself repeatedly a year or so after we moved in with him; I found his blood soaked corpse laying in his bed." 

" _Jesus Christ_ , Alexander."

But the twenty-year-old wasn't done, and it felt like this confession was something he had kept bottled up for so long with all his suffering and bitterness that he probably couldn't stop himself at this point, no matter how much Washington dearly wished he would. "His death _destroyed_ Uncle James. One of his sons disgrace him, and then the other one dies within a couple years of losing his beloved wife. His broken heart killed him less than a month later, and we were alone again. We were taken in by a kind neighbor, Mr. Stevens. His son Edward became my dearest friend." Alexander breathed, his voice no longer quivering. "I thank whatever God exists out there that my own terrible fortune didn't kill them as well. He treated me like his own." 

So _that_ was who Mr. Stevens was.

"What... what happened to your brother?" He almost didn't ask, almost _couldn't_ ; were it not for the tight white-knuckled grasp with which he held onto the arm of his chair, he thought he would fall apart right there.

His Aide—no, his _son_ , his poor boy, _shrugged_ , as if he could no longer bring himself to even care, "I saw him last when I was thirteen. He went to apprentice with an elderly carpenter and I've heard barely a word from him since. I was used to people leaving by then." He admitted, his voice sounded completely drained. " _Everyone_ I have ever loved has either died or left me, Sir, so... if you wondered why I don't volunteer myself to become close with many people, that... that is why. Either they'll realize the burden I am and leave of their own accord or stay by my side and lose their life for the sake of being kind to me." The forced, watery smile Alexander offered him was probably the most emotional and heartbreaking thing he had ever seen in his life.

At least until Alexander's smile wavered and he dissolved into a fresh round of tears, covering his face with his hands in a futile effort to stop it, a keening cry just barely stifled by his palm. It could have been the alcohol or the fever or even the result of having had to be so strong for far too long, but the young man was falling to pieces right before him, and obviously hating every moment of it. He was whispering under his breath, 'I'm sorry, Mama, I'm so sorry' and 'It's my fault, may God forgive me'. It gave the distinct impression that this was the first time Hamilton had ever actually allowed himself to grieve.

Lord, this boy had really lost his _entire family_ before he even reached adolescence.

For all he had lost, even the Commander could not claim to have experienced such devastation, and certainly not so young. He had lost Lawrence when he was in his twenties, heartbreaking, but he had held himself together. He still had his sister Betty and brothers Samuel, John and Charles, and his mother back in Virginia; he had many nieces and nephews running about. The losses he grieved the most were that of Lawrence's baby daughter Sarah who had passed not longer after him, his father who died when he was eleven, and his beloved stepdaughter Patsy. But he had not lost _everyone_.

George stood up then and looped his way around the desk, and if his own vision was blurred with his tears, he staunchly ignored them. 

"S-Sir?" 

His son just barely had enough time to lift his striking eyes up to meet his Commander's before suddenly finding himself enveloped in the other soldier's arms. "Your Excellency, _no_. I'm not... this isn't—" he struggled to pull himself free of George's embrace, caught somewhere between confusion and mortification, his voice edging on just this side of panic, especially when he realized the General was _trembling_. "Oh, Sir, please don't cry! T-This isn't professional, I-I never _meant_ to... oh, I must make such a pathetic sight. I understand if you wish for me to resign—"

" _Shhh_." The man's words were quiet, firm, his voice rough with tears but somehow still gentle at the same time, empathy and regret flowing through him. "For a few moments, don't speak, son, just _listen_. Alexander. I... my God, I can't even _begin_ to imagine how hard it must have been for you to tell me this, but I’m glad you did. No one should ever have to go through that, least of all a child. You must have felt so _alone..._ " George swallowed, his arms tightening around Alexander when he heard his breath hitch again. "...but never again, you hear me? You can deny it all you want, but you're a part of _my_ family now, with or without this war, and I'll _never_ leave you alone again, I swear on my life." he whispered, promising to himself that he had _failed_ his son for the last time; and the Aide, previously tense and radiating distress, was now suddenly clinging to him, a wet sobbing noise escaping his throat, like a wounded animal. Alexander was just a boy. Barely out of his childhood, and he had lost everything and everyone he held dear...

 _All because of you_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _You left him on that island with next to nobody, and he had to fight his entire life just to get here._

"It's okay, Alex, shhhh. I've got you."

And for a moment, father and son clung to each other like a lifeline in the light of the dying fire, raw and exposed but _together_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon Alert: As you may have guessed from reading this chapter, I've given Alexander a particularly good memory, in addition to some sort of mental disorder (that shall not be named because psychology was WAY different back then, than it is today). First up, I'm not giving Alexander an an Eidetic memory (which the field of science is skeptical about at best) or Photographic memory, the latter of which has never been proven to actually exist. Although I doubt there was a term for it back then, what I'm giving Alexander is referred to as Hyperthymesia, a subset of "Exceptional memory" where people can recall with vivid detail events in their lives/things they've read or heard about, both mundane and important. 
> 
> It's a personal type of selectively perfect memory. Here's a partial description of it from Wikipedia: "There is a distinction between those with hyperthymesia and those with other forms of exceptional memory. Memories recalled by hyperthymestic individuals tend to be personal, autobiographical accounts of both significant and mundane events in their lives. This extensive and highly unusual memory does not derive from the use of mnemonic strategies; it is encoded involuntarily and retrieved automatically. Despite perhaps being able to remember the day of the week on which a particular date fell, hyperthymestics are not calendrical calculators, like some people with savant syndrome. Rather, hyperthymestic recall tends to be constrained to a person's lifetime and is believed to be a subconscious process."
> 
> Another note, while I believe Alexander in the musical does suffer from some form of PTSD, which can cause victims to recall traumatic moments in their lives over and over like a video on replay ("I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory") I believe it isn't entirely impossible that Alexander just has a very good memory. Not going to try to prove it was true for the real man, because that's weird. However, this isn't necessarily always to his benefit; the musical showed Hamilton neglecting things like eating, sleeping and spending time with his family in favor of continuing to work, and in Hurricane and Non-Stop he definitely shows signs of trauma and also a fear of running out of time/not getting enough done (Chronophobia), which in my opinion could be at least partially explained by his inability to stop thinking about the past, as well as his ambition. Alexander Hamilton in the musical, in my opinion, is both subconsciously a death-seeker and yet terrified of his time being cut short before he can accomplish everything he wants to do, which is why he pushes himself so hard.
> 
> Wikipedia said of a young woman with Hyperthymesia named AJ: "Hyperthymestic abilities can have a detrimental effect. The constant, irrepressible stream of memories has caused significant disruption to AJ's life. She described her recollection as "non-stop, uncontrollable and totally exhausting" and as "a burden". AJ is prone to getting lost in remembering. This can make it difficult to attend to the present or future, as she is permanently living in the past."
> 
> Another interesting thing; everyone who has come forward to be scientifically researched for Hyperthymesia has displayed Obsessive Compulsive tendencies; not only does OCD cause repetitive behaviors (the "washing your hands twenty times" stereotype you may have seen on TV before), but it can also cause intrusive thoughts, such as those involving death, and - wait for it - a risk factor for developing OCD includes childhood abuse or stressful events. Not only that but research shows that the likelihood of a person diagnosed with PTSD developing OCD within a year is about 30%. As well, between 4% and 22% of people with PTSD also have a diagnosis of OCD. For more information check out the NCBI article "Trauma-related Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." 
> 
> So, yeah, whether PTSD, OCD or Hyperthymesia, I'm giving Alexander an A+/selectively perfect memory because I want to, lol. Information regarding Hamilton's childhood is borrowed from the wonderful Mr. Ron Chernow's book, plus some online sources and my own imagination.
> 
> If you bothered to read this, thanks! If not, I can't blame you. You didn't really need to know any of this, I just thought it was interesting and intended to incorporate some of this into my portrayal of Ham.


	8. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander feels like he's made a huge mistake, and goes to the only person he trusts to make it better; John ends up with more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will contain explicit sexual content, references to the slave trade, and mentions of physical abuse.

_September, 1777_

George looked down at the young man who had cried himself to sleep in the General’s office after revealing more of himself in the span of an hour than he ever had during the nine months they had worked together. Once Alexander had finally calmed down somewhat, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. Now he was laying with his head in Washington’s lap, oblivious to the fact that the gentle fingers combing through his hair belonged to his father.

 _This was a mistake_ , George thought to himself grimly, guilt swelling within to form a lump that lodged itself in his throat. He had never wanted _this_ ; those words could never be taken back, and now he knew some of the most painful memories the young man kept in the recesses of his mind.

He just wanted to get to know him, not push him to a breakdown.

It was his fault, and he knew it; his Aide de Camp was an intensely private person, and he never would have admitted to any of the things he had, were he in his right of mind. But the General's desire for answers had saw it fit to invite this ill boy to have a drink with him, after a nightmare no less, and then use his own words to leave him in a position where he had no choice but to answer.

Would Alexander ever be able to look him in the eyes again, after he woke up?

The most discomforting thing of all, however, was the fact that Hamilton had attempted to choke out an offer to resign between his sobs; did he truly believe Washington valued him so little that he would throw him aside at the slightest inconvenience, even if it was he himself who had practically asked for this to happen? He knew the young man wished to be helpful, he always wanted to be of service, in any way he could, but was his self worth truly so minuscule that he couldn't fathom the older male wanting him around for reasons other than writing his letters for him?

Before he could sink any deeper into these thoughts, the boy let out a sleepy groan and rolled over a little, prompting George to curl an arm around his chest so he wouldn't fall off the sofa; in response, Alexander's hand rose to rest against his own beneath the blanket, a soft sigh leaving him before he stilled, and he couldn't help but smile at the endearing look of peace on Hamilton's face.

It was startling, to realize that he'd never actually seen Alexander properly asleep before.

Each time he'd either been passed out from sickness or injury, or delirious from his fever and not properly resting. 

_You never go to bed at a reasonable hour. I wonder if you were like this as a baby, or if you behaved yourself..._ he mused.

George tried picturing Rachel rocking a newborn Alexander, but the image was so painful that the fresh grief, brought on from the confirmation of her demise, made him immediately push it aside. There would be time to mourn her properly, later. 

As he was contemplating the chance of getting caught if he were to carry Alexander back to his own quarters, the boy turned again, and due to the way he was laying, his shirt collar - which George had unbuttoned in an effort to reduce his temperature as it began to climb again - slid down, revealing the patch of white skin that was his back. He moved to cover him again when a mark caught his attention; the one Alexander had touched earlier in his panic after waking from his nightmare. 

Before he could adjust his shirt, Washington unwillingly got a closer look at it, and felt his stomach drop, sucking in a shocked breath.

He knew exactly what it was, now.

The mark on Alexander's shoulder wasn't a scar or a burn from a fire, as he had initially presumed...

In the middle of his left shoulder blade was a reddened, raised crescent shape of healed scar tissue; by the looks of it, a hot metal of some sort had been pressed against his flesh but had been taken away too quickly to properly burn in place what would have been some sort of insignia, leaving just the bottom of the circle actually imprinted. Either the rest of the seal hadn't remained in contact with his skin long enough to leave it behind because the person had stopped, or because someone had yanked it away before the mark could be complete. 

A cold feeling washed over George as he recalled that, prior to Laurens waking him up, Alexander hadn't just been crying out in fear, he had been begging: _No, no, please don't! Please, stop, let go of me!_

Someone had tried to _brand_ Alexander.

Judging by the appearance of the scarring, it had been quite a while ago too, more than likely before he ever left to come to America, and if he was still on the island when it happened, that meant he would have been a child.

For a moment, Washington thought he was going to empty his stomach. 

He knew St. Croix was dangerous, all of the islands were, but _especially_ St. Croix; it was a place where criminals went to lay low from the laws, torture and mutilation was permitted as a punishment for breaking even minor laws, it was a where the pervasive taint of slavery was everywhere; even most physicians had little choice but to perform examinations on human chattel at auctions or tend to poorly treated slaves if they wanted to stay in business, because avoiding contact with anyone who had some sort of connection to the practice meant not interacting with _anyone_.

But, unlike in the Colonies where usually only the more wealthy business owners participated, even the lower class interacted with slaves on a daily basis, if they didn't own them themselves and rent them out for the extra money, then _they_ were the ones doing the renting. It was actually a law on the island that any white male over a certain age had to help prevent a slave resistance if one should occur. As soon as Alexander turned sixteen that law would have applied to him and his brother, under Danish law, and they would have been obligated to serve in the militia and attend once a month drills with arms and ammunition at the ready, if Fort Christiansvaern fired twice in a row in alert, all white males had to grab their muskets and ﬂock there or risk being charged, they were legally bound to help 'protect' the island's 'interests' if there were ever a revolt. He didn't want to think about his son, who had the heart of an abolitionist no matter how impractical it was during the war to espouse such views, being forced to fight back against rebellious slaves if there was ever an escape attempt. 

So yes, thanks to Rachel he was well aware of how horrible the islands could be. 

The fact that Hamilton rarely even flinched at the acts of extreme brutality around them had struck George as odd for someone so young who had previously come from a volunteer militia with no formal combat training before that, but he'd thought the boy was just naturally brave and had a strong stomach...

Now he was realizing that it perhaps that had nothing to do with his character, he may have just been desensitized to the horror of it all because he had grown up seeing it on a regular basis.

It had never occurred to Washington that the _reason_ Alexander was so against the practice of trading human commerce was because of what he had witnessed as a child; he'd naturally assumed that meeting and spending time with the close friends he had, had given him that view. But Alexander had been a poor orphan on St. Croix, so even if he hadn't personally owned anyone, the chance that he'd had some sort of negative experience involving the practice was high... and God, he didn't even want to _think_ about how his son had ended up with an incomplete _brand_ on his fucking back.

Suddenly needing some air, George carefully got up, gently lowering Alexander back on the couch and tucking the blanket around him; for a moment he lay his hand on the top of the boy's head. _I'm so sorry for everything you've been through because of my choices, son._ Then he stepped out into the night in an effort to collect his thoughts, leaving the young man fast asleep on the couch.

* * *

The moment Alexander woke up, he knew something wasn't quite right. 

For starters, he wasn't even in his own room, and secondly, his head hurt, a lot, his whole _face_ did, actually, but the area around his eyes and nose were the worst. It didn't take him long to realize the source of this pain; he reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes and noticed the dry tear stains on his cheeks, which felt puffy and overheated. _What? Was I crying?_ That was when earlier that evening came back to him, sudden and unwelcome.

Washington had invited him to his office for a drink and then—

_"I'm technically a bastard."_

Oh God, no.

He didn’t.

Sitting frozen on the sofa, Alexander frantically played back his drink with the General, panic swelling up inside of him as he recounted everything he'd said to him, every confession, the sordid details of his shameful birth and equally humiliating upbringing in the Caribbean. He was reticent about his personal life and vague regarding his feelings for a reason. Now Washington knew everything about it, save for a precious few details he'd thankfully neglected but—oh, _Sweet Jesus_ , he'd told him about Peter's death and his father leaving. He'd told him about his _mother's_ _death_ , of all things... 

He must have fallen asleep right there in the man's office after his breakdown into helpless crying. 

That was his Commander, and he'd completely disgraced himself in front of him... the man probably thought he was utterly _pathetic_ now. Washington likely left because even his pity could only extend so far. 

Maybe he was laughing at him, the little bastard orphan from the trading islands that ever thought he could _be_ somebody who mattered.

He'd ruined everything.

_No, no, NO!_

All of a sudden, the young man felt like he could no longer breathe, think or even speak, as the full weight of what he'd done came crashing down upon him.

 _Out—I need to get out of here!_ Hamilton scrambled to his feet and lurched at the door, fumbling to get it open and stumbling into the hallway. His hands were trembling, his whole body was actually, and he could see his chest moving up and down rapidly beneath his clothing. It hurt to breathe, God why couldn't he _breathe?!_ His vision was blurring, and the young man's line of sight kept getting narrower, like he was struggling to remain conscious, while he staggered down the hallway, feeling as though he should call for help because this wasn't normal, _this couldn't be normal_ , he felt like he was dying. 

... _Was_ he dying? 

Maybe the fever was going to kill him after all.

Alexander didn't know where exactly he was even going until he caught sight of a familiar door in a redwood frame at the end of a corridor, and suddenly the overwhelming anxious feeling clawing at his insides seemed to reach its peak. A hysterical gasp left him and he knocked rapidly on the door, praying it would open. _Please, please, please!_

It took a few seconds, but the door was suddenly wrenched open. 

The irritated expression on the man's face at being awoken at the hour he was vanished as Alexander's legs buckled and he nearly collapsed.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around the hyperventilating young man, half-dragging him into the room as he hung onto him, light-headed and nauseous and feeling like his chest was going to explode, or he was going to black out. 

* * *

Shutting the door firmly, John pulled Alexander to his bed, he was now wide awake and _extremely concerned_. 

The blond went through a mental list of possibilities, trying to figure out what could have set his friend off; Alexander didn't have these attacks very often, and the few times that he had, Laurens had to offer his help, because the other male just didn't go to people for help unless he felt he absolutely had to. So the fact that he was here and not tucked away in his own room trying to deal with this himself made him very nervous; what could have happened to cause this?

He immediately noticed that it was worse this time around; his sudden bouts of anxiety weren't normally this severe. Perhaps recent illness had exacerbated the symptoms? Regardless, he knew Alexander wouldn't want anyone else seeing him this way unless it was maybe Hercules or Lafayette, and that was a big _maybe_. 

"Hamilton, Alex—I need you to look at me." He spoke as calmly as he could despite his own pounding heartbeat, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he took the Aide's face in his hands, trying to make him meet his gaze; Hamilton's violet eyes were nearly black with how blown out his pupils had become, a look of regret and complete unbridled terror flickering across his expression, alongside the confusion and grief. "C'mon, Hammy, it's okay, I'm here now, I've got you. _Respirez profondément_."

For the first time since he'd banged on Laurens' door he seemed actually aware that he wasn't alone, grabbing the blond's wrist and squeezing it painfully as tears slid down his face, struggling to reply, "La-Laur—"

The sight of Alexander robbed of speech due to these fits always _frightened_ John, deep down, but he couldn't show it, because his best friend needed him to be the calm and level headed one whenever he couldn't. That was how they worked; whenever John was the one being passionate or reckless or stupid (sometimes all three at once), Hamilton was the one that grounded him, and vice versa.

 _You and I, do or die_ , he remembered saying to him shortly after they'd met.

He and Hamilton had instant connection.

"Easy there, Alex, don't try to speak. I'm here, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere without you." He promised him fervently , "Now _breathe_. In and out, just like me. Come on."

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a huge breath, his face puffy and swollen from crying. 

Soon enough, he was raggedly inhaling pulls of air, his face half-buried in John's shoulder as the other male embraced him, rocking the two of them back and forth ever so slightly and murmuring words of encouragement in his ear. Only once the man's heartbeat had slowed down to a pace that wouldn't have sent a physician into a panic, John laid his cheek against the top of Alexander's head and asked him, "Do you want to talk about it?

Hamilton started to shake his head, but then he blurted out the least eloquent thing that Laurens had ever heard him say, “I fucked up, John. I messed up _horribly_ with Washington and I c-can’t fix it.” He choked out, his voice carrying a hint of something he wasn't used to with Alexander. Not quite fear, but _something_. He couldn't stand it. This was one of the bravest people he knew, reduced to tears. 

What the _hell_ had happened in Washington's office that night?

Twin hands gently squeezed Alexander's shoulders and he found the sight of his warm eyes in the candlelight soothing, taking comfort in the way they drew him in, the genuine concern helping ease the knot that had formed in his chest ever so slightly. It didn't help the stammering though. "H-He asked me about my life and I told him... oh God, I'm such a _fool_. He'll never look at me the same again. I... I—"

His friend was going to work himself up into a frenzy once more at this rate, "Alexander?"

It was obvious that Hamilton was in no condition to discuss it now, no matter how much he may have wanted to, but as per usual, the younger man was oblivious to the fact that Laurens was trying to interject. The fever likely wasn't helping, and he was going to upset himself all over again; fresh tears had already started welling up in the corners of his eyes. 

“Hamilton,” he tried again. 

"—He's going to send me home for sure, why would anyone of his stature want a filthy bastard working so close to him? I wouldn't want my name associated with his either if I knew the truth!" 

One thing John had learned since joining the Army? 

The most effective way to get Alexander to stop speaking was to cut off his words altogether; and it was _far_ from the first time he had shut the auburn haired man up with a kiss.

Normally whenever this happened, Hamilton would start to kiss him back before pulling away, blushing endearingly and scolding him for being so rude with that indignant kitten-like anger he had whenever he was only halfway serious, and eventually laugh and smack him on the arm. It was, incidentally, a good way to cheer him up when he was moping too. That’s what he was going for: a laugh.

Alexander did not laugh this time.

Instead he went rigid against John, and everything was silent... before a quiet whimper emitted from the back of his throat as the man’s flow of tears continued without pause.

Alarmed by this, Laurens started to pull away, worried he’d chosen the wrong way of attempting to garner the other’s attention. But, before he could separate himself properly from Hamilton, a pale hand flew up and buried itself into his honey blond hair, dragging him back down for a longer and much more forceful kiss with a gasp that that sounded like much more of a sob than anything else.

Alexander hooked his arm around John’s neck and kissed him back feverishly, literally; he could _feel_ the heat emitting from the Aide de Camp as he pressed closer to him, their bodies pressed flushed together, lips parting slightly so he could lick his way along Laurens’ bottom lip, silently asking for entrance.

He’d be lying if he said, despite the situation, that the hungry way Alexander attacked his mouth didn’t send desire shooting right to his cock. 

Hamilton had _always_ had that effect on him, how could he not? Between those passionate deep blue eyes and his angelic face, paired with that incredible mind.

Plus, well, he would have needed to be blind or an idiot not to notice his body...

Still, John was not one to take advantage of his friends when they were in distress, _especially_ not someone he cared so deeply about, it just didn't sit right with him.

As Alexander’s deft fingers slid up through his hair and tugged, his breath quickened, feeling the red-haired male’s mouth dragging across his jaw to the crook of his neck, the scratching of his stubble against John’s skin leaving a trail of fire in his wake that left him dizzy. His head tipped back and he gave a breathy moan, only to tense when feeling Alexander’s hand begin to creep downwards, and he caught the man’s wrist, managing a quiet, raspy, “Alex... stop.”

John pulled away and was greeted with Hamilton’s flushed face, his eyes still glistening with tears and reddened from crying, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He had to resist the urge to bite those kissable lips again. “What... what’s wrong?”

 _Shit_. 

It was painfully obvious by Alexander’s voice that he was already expecting the worst; he had rejection on his mind and was in a hypersensitive state. He'd seen the younger man take horrible insults without so much as a blink, but he had his sore spots just as anyone else did; rejection and abandonment were two of them. One wrong word or slip in his tone could crush him.

John was a lot of things but an asshole wasn’t one of them, he _never_ wanted to be the reason Alexander was hurting. 

Some days he almost dared to even think he might lo—

“Laurens? Are you...” Hamilton paused, his voice even for the first time since arriving at his door. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, Alexander, you didn’t. I just... Dear, you’re ill. I can feel the heat coming off of you." He leaned back and brushed some of the other's hair from his face, which was thankfully starting to lose some of its redness, aside from the flush in his cheeks. "You ought'a be sleeping, you know. We shouldn’t—”

Hamilton interjected, “It’s not contagious, the doctor assured me, you’ll be fine.” He promised and moved in for another kiss; which physically pained John to have to dodge.

”You also came to me crying and distraught to the point of a near breakdown, Alexander." He murmured, leaning their foreheads together. "I won’t take advantage of your poor emotional well-being for my own gratification.”

Alexander laughed, but not in the amused way, and his hand was on John’s cheek and he instinctively leaned into the warmth the Caribbean man provided. “ _You_ are the only thing currently holding me together, right now, but if anyone would be taking advantage of someone it would myself, my dear Laurens.” His arms twined around John’s neck and drew him closer, brushing his face against the column of his throat.

“I seem to have caught you in a compromising position, John; tell me, do you always take off your uniform before going to bed?” He asked cheekily, playing with the hem of the long white shirt that covered John’s thighs, the only thing he was currently wearing at the moment.

He swallowed, exhaled shakily, “Alex—”

"Shh... I'm fine, as long as I have you I will always be okay." He whispered, and the words were so soft he could almost believe he had imagined them. 

A warm and incredibly _fond_ feeling settled in his chest. 

Unable to bring himself to push the issue, John let himself relax, leaning back against the bedroom wall, his arms curling around the redhead to hold the younger against himself. He could feel Alexander smile against the skin of his neck, soft lips travelling upwards, a quiet gasp escaping his mouth as the warm, wet sensation of a tongue brushed along the shell of his ear, causing a shudder to slide down his spine. "Mmm... H-Hamilton..." he croaked when that clever mouth sucked gently at the spot just behind his ear; if he had been standing his legs would have buckled, Alexander nipped the sensitive area gently, before drawing away to look at him, a pleased expression on his face.

"...You're a little shit, you know that?" John breathed as his eyes opened (when had even _closed_ them?), the Southerner's blue-green eyes had darkened with desire. 

Alexander hummed in agreement, stroking the palm of his hand along John's cheek, and then slowly he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together once more, this time with no resistance from either of them at the contact.

He wasn’t used to this.

Normally when they were together, John had taken the active role; he teased Alexander, made the first move, so to speak. That was not to say Alexander was passive in bed, far from it, but he was usually not so forward.

The older man found that he was enjoying it a lot.

Hamilton’s fingertips traced the curves of his face, a thumb rubbing along the underside of John’s jaw as he licked his way passed Laurens' lips, stroking the nerves of his tongue with his own and suckling the wet tip until John shivered with pleasure and gripped him tightly, moaning quietly into his mouth. Finally breaking away from his mouth only to bring his lips back to the other’s ear and crooning: 

“How would you like to feel that, but... _lower?_ ” 

Alexander took a vicious sort of satisfaction in seeing John suddenly _choke_ on thin air.

The blond's head snapped up in surprise to look at Hamilton, wide-eyed. 

”I-I... that... Alexander, you don’t have to do that.” He finally got out, a furious blush spreading across the Carolinian’s cheeks as he stammered, suddenly well aware of the teasing fingertips that danced down the length of his shirt, his whole body thrumming with desire now. “Are you... sure?”

To his surprise, the younger male’s violet eyes flickered up to meet his own, “Honestly? I've found within myself that I have an _insatiable_ curiosity when it comes to you, Officer Laurens, and I don’t believe that it will end until I’ve tried everything with you at least once.” He paused, then added with a smirk, "Maybe _twice_ , just to be absolutely sure."

John gaped down at him, “ _E-Everything?_ You mean even—”

”Indeed.” Alexander smiled up at him, his eyes still a bit bloodshot but otherwise he looked thoroughly distracted from his earlier upset.

”But you and I... we've never... a-and you’ve never _ever..._ ” John pointed out, trying to ignore the heated anticipation and nervousness coiling in his stomach.

At this point Hamilton looked more amused than anything, sliding his hand up the inside of the other soldier’s inner thigh, curling his warm fingers around what the fabric of his shirt still hid from sight, prompting John to bite his lower lip as he began to stroke him slowly. “I hardly think it’s something to fuss over; women lose their virginity all the time, besides... I’ve oft dreamt of what it would be like to have you inside of me, my dear Laurens.”

 _Jesus Christ_. John swallowed thickly, unable to think of a response to that.

”Don’t worry, I’m well aware we are ill prepared for such acts at the moment; we’ll just have to enjoy what can be done, here and now...” Alexander sweetly smiled before pushing up John’s shirt, and exposing him to the cool night air.

A shiver ran through the twenty-two-year-old Major as the layer was peeled back, watching as Hamilton let his gaze wander downwards to rest between John’s thighs, and he had to resist the desire to squirm under those piercing violet irises. It wasn’t the first time he had been undressed in front of Alexander, of course, but up until now their intimacy had mostly consisted of heavy kissing, grinding and jerking each other off; and Alexander had never looked at him _this_ way before, eyes dark and predatory, like he wanted to pounce on the older male, or eat him.

“You are a beautiful man, John Laurens...” Alexander murmured heatedly, and the Carolinian male couldn’t find the words to respond to that as the Aide de Camp lay both of his hands on either of his calves, sliding them up slowly to his knees before spreading the blond’s legs, delighted with the way that he shivered and blushed under the intensity of his gaze. 

Then, without another word, the Lieutenant Colonel bent down and pressed his lips to his friend’s inner thigh, nearly chuckling at the way his femoral pulse quickened in response. John quietly gasped as the younger man kissed his way up the inside of his quivering leg. 

Alexander was a tease, and he was methodical about it, trailing his lips up over his hip bone and down his pelvis, purposely bypassing his flushed and straining arousal, much to the other man’s frustration. 

“Hamilton, plea—” John didn’t get a chance to finish as the Aide gripped his cock tightly, drawing a strangled groan from his lips.

"When we're like this," He heard his lover whisper to him, the dark and commanding voice he used made John's erection throb. "You will refrain from calling me my surname, understand?"

Laurens gulped, his fingers curling into the palms of his hands. "I... _yes_ , Alexander." 

At this point he would say or do anything for him, as long as the Aide continued to look at him, talk to him, like _that_.

The younger man's smile returned, so dazzling that it briefly made the blond's brain stutter to a halt. Holy fuck, he was so _pretty_. Alexander shifted downwards to lay between his opened legs and suddenly licked his way up the other’s length, prompting a needy whimper from John. “Oh _God_ ,” his fingers curled into the bedclothes as Alexander grazed the tip of his cock with his mouth before sucking it inside. 

John had to stuff his fist between his teeth, trying to keep as silent as possible while Alexander explored, his expression one of curiosity and desire as he dragged the broad side of his tongue down the underside of his manhood. Occasionally those arresting blue eyes would dart upwards, searching John’s eyes with so much innocent affection that it made his heart flutter with adoration. 

Then, suddenly, the writer’s hands gripped both of John’s hips and yanked him down until his back hit the mattress, no longer leaning against the wall, and he grunted quietly in surprise. 

“I want to taste you,” Alexander suddenly announced in a soft voice and, his need for a slow exploration apparently sated, bowed his head and took John’s cock properly into that inviting wet mouth of his, an action which prompted the blond to arch his back in a silent cry as pleasure engulfed him, one hand flying down to cup the back of Hamilton’s head while the other trembled against the mattress.

“Nnnh... oh, fuck, _Alex_.” Laurens whimpered as the other man bobbed his head, taking him in deeper and humming around him.

Hamilton’s actions didn’t have the refined ease of someone who had done this before, but what he lacked in experience he more than made up for with his bold enthusiasm, tonguing at the head of John’s erection as pre-ejaculatory fluid dribbled out, wrapping his fingers around the base and stroking whatever he couldn’t fit comfortably into his mouth without choking.

The fact that it was Alexander doing this for him at all was one of the _biggest_ turn-ons ever and as John pushed himself up a little with his elbows to get a better look, he felt the liquid pleasure pulsating through him wildly. _His Alexander_ , flushed and panting through his nose, laying between Laurens’ legs, with that gorgeous mouth stretched obscenely around his cock. 

John squeezed his eyes shut and fell back down against the mattress, trying desperately to choke back his own gasps and moans as he writhed on the bed, so as not to alert anyone in the rooms at the other end of the hall what was going on. 

At this rate, this man would be the death of him.

Pulling off for a moment, Alexander brushed his hair from his face and grinned at the frustrated look on John's face as his hips bucked up, trying to chase the sensation, and he pressed his mouth to the blond's left inner thigh, then bit down and _sucked_. 

"Ahhh!" John cried out and Alexander lunged forward to slap a hand down over his mouth.

Dark, lust blown blue eyes stared up into his violet ones, and he pressed their foreheads together for a moment, "You need to be quiet, Love," Alexander whispered softly, and John's eyes widened at the pet name, shocked, but the other man seemed completely unaware that he'd even said it. "If you can't, tell me, and I will search for something to gag you with, there's something I want to try." If Alexander's words weren't suggestive enough, he then winked at the blond, who felt himself blush fiercely in response. 

With his warning issued, Hamilton ducked out of sight once more, and the older man startled as his right leg was lifted and hooked over the Aide's shoulder, his breathing came in harsh pants of anticipation, wondering what Alexander had in mind. He was unpredictable in a way that thrilled John. 

The blond's ears twitched when he heard a quiet noise, a wet sucking sound and a soft sigh. Just as he was about to lift his head up to see what was happening, Alexander's mouth was enveloping his member again and he pressed his hand over his own mouth as hard as he could to muffle his own lustful cry as the younger man lavished attention on him. 

He felt a hand sliding under him when his lover lifted him further off the bed, and John's eyes snapped open at the sensation of a long, thin finger, slick with saliva, pushing its way inside of him. _Oh God_. His thighs shook in the other's hold as it pressed in deeper, stroking against his inner walls as the blond bit down on his knuckles so he wouldn't shout, especially when Alexander swallowed around his cock, white hot arousal jolting through him.

Suddenly, the finger crooked a certain way, rubbing roughly over his prostate and he was _done for_.

John choked back a wrecked sob of pleasure as his body jerked off the bed and came down Alexander's throat, shaking in the aftermath of its intensity.

He vaguely felt his leg sliding off of the man's shoulder as he slowly withdrew his finger, giving his softening length a couple of gentle kitten licks before climbing back up to lay beside John, pulling the flushed and panting man back against him, arms curled around his waist and his face buried against the blond's neck as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

After several minutes he felt like his heart had finally returned to its normal pace, and his eyes kept closing of their own accord. It was the middle of the night, after all. Another part of him didn't want to break this moment.

Before he could really sink into sleep though, John felt Hamilton press a kiss to his temple and whisper, "Are you still awake?" 

"Yeah." He shifted and rolled over without breaking Alexander's hold on him, so they were facing each other. Even in the dying candlelight he could see the expression on his lover's face; uncertainty. Anyone else John had been with in the past would have looked smug. "Hey..." he cupped the redhead's cheek and kissed him softly, tasting himself on the other man's lips, moaning quietly when he did. "That was... incredible, where did you learn that?"

Alexander blinked, surprised, and then a pleased little grin quirked at the corners of his lips, "My adoptive brother."

Wait, _what?_

"Did you fuck your brother?" He blurted before he could really stop himself.

Judging by the now crimson cheeks and horrified disgust on Alexander's face, he was going to take that as a no. "Adoptive brother, and _God no_. Neddy is my best friend from St. Croix, and he always wanted to be a doctor. We read a lot of the same things and had similar interests, when he sailed off to the Colonies to become a physician he left a bunch of Latin textbooks regarding medicine behind. One of them was about anatomy and sex. I, uh, memorized a few things..." he admitted, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

Only Alexander Hamilton would _study_ the intricacies of intercourse. 

John chuckled, endeared, "You are unbelievable, you know that?" He hooked an arm around his waist and held him even closer, "Do you want me to...?" He'd been so taken aback by Alexander's abrupt change in behavior he hadn't even thought to offer until now.

"No." His treasured friend shook his head, "I just wanted to take my mind off of... well, you know. Maybe next time?" He suggested, almost coyly.

"I like the sound of that." John agreed with a returning smile, "And, hey, if _that_ is the sort of interruption I can expect from you, I am more than alright with you waking me up more often." 

"Ha ha," Alexander rolled his eyes and nuzzled him, "Really, though, thank you John."

The blond leaned back just enough to give him a puzzled look. 

"For comforting me when I was having that... fit, and letting me distract myself with you." Alexander admitted, quietly. 

Ah. Well, it wasn't as though the experience was unpleasant. 

John kissed the corner of his mouth, "How are you feeling now?" 

"Tired," Hamilton answered without hesitation, laying his head on the man's chest as he curled up against him, "But calm. Go back to sleep, I need to get some rest before I have to sneak out of here in a few hours and get back to my room." he murmured, closing his eyes. There was something else Alexander wanted to say, but he couldn't just yet, even with the words on the tip of his tongue. Eventually he would, though, because there was no mistaking the swell of joy and affection he felt for this incredible man.

 _Soon_ , he would be able to tell him.

"Goodnight, Alexander." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I going to have Washington slowly becoming more and more anti-slavery due to his experiences with Alexander and seeing the direct suffering caused by the practice in ALL of my stories? Yes, yes I am. 
> 
> Anyways, now we've got more of the Lams plot going; things will really heat up next chapter, both romantically with those two and in plot related ways as we get a glimpse of our antagonists for the story. Thanks for reading, and be sure to tell me what you think so far! <3


	9. Moonlit Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton pleads his case for a mission that is granted by a reluctant Washington, and Laurens tags along; meanwhile, something sinister lurks just below the surface at the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content near the end and extreme fluff, as well as a non-graphic description of a minor, sex-related injury, just an FYI for anyone reading this!
> 
> And by "near the end" I mean this 9,000+ word chapter has over 6,000 words of homoerotic romance, John Laurens being an observant and sweet dumbass and Alexander falling head over heels for him (and also being equally a dumbass). Enjoy!

_December, 1777_

For the next month and a half after _that night_ , Washington barely saw Alexander.

It wasn't that the two men were avoiding each other, necessarily, despite the somewhat awkward first conversation they'd had following _that evening_ (which neither of them dared to bring up, beyond the General inquiring about his status, much to his embarrassment), it was just that things quickly became much busier. As it turned out, the British did _not_ storm Philadelphia following the incident at the Schuylkill river, nor did they the following week. Eventually, they couldn't wait any longer and see what their enemy was planning to do, as they were desperately in need of supplies by late September, and he was forced to send his Aide-de-Camp into Philadelphia and get what they needed that; among other important things for the Continental Army, he obtained shoes, clothing, and blankets for their men.

Finally, on September 26th, Admiral Howe marched into Philadelphia with his troops, unopposed after successfully out-maneuvering them.

He was thankfully fully recovered by the time he took that mission, which was good because he had a feeling the next few months would be increasingly difficult; like a warning in the pit of his stomach. Something _bad_ was coming.

After the Battle of Germantown was fought in October, Alexander headed North into New York in order to convince General Horatio Gates to send reinforcements to help them after he ignored the request via dispatch. As usual, Hamilton was brilliant at his job; Gates was a disrespectful son of a bitch whose contempt for Washington could be smelled from a mile away, but he did eventually send help. Unfortunately, by the time reinforcements had arrived to bolster their numbers, Fort Mifflin and Fort Mercer had already fallen into British hands, and the Royal Navy had complete access to the Delaware River, which meant they could supply the occupying forces at Philadelphia shipping ports. So they weren't going to starve them out of the American capital anytime soon.

At least he was able to enjoy the fact that Howe had been _completely_ humiliated at Red Bank before the capture of Fort Mercer, even if he was not personally present to see it happen; and it had relieved some of the pressure on General Washington and their men, so that was a bonus.

They were currently occupying a house in Valley Forge created by a Quaker named Isaac Potts. The building was about three stories high and made of stone, and their encampment as a whole was around 16 miles from Philadelphia; a good location, overall, as it would protect the capital from further entry by the British if they tried to come through this way, at least.

Although the temperature was tolerable, the immigrant quickly realized the issues that came with this mild winter.

The thawing and rain was preventing vital supplies from being shipped to them; the rivers were dangerously swollen and the roads had become muddy and nigh impassable. 

So, they weren't going to freeze to death, but they would eventually run out of food, clothing, basic survival supplies and of course medicine to treat the inevitable illness that came with exposure to the various elements, close quarters contact with other sick and wounded people, _and_ they had to be on constant alert from a British attack since they had captured the capital and the Continental Congress had to scatter elsewhere in Pennsylvania in order to avoid having the same thing happen to them.

 _Wonderful_.

His Excellency was already making plans to draw the British out of Philadelphia and into another battle, but Alexander feared that they were going to run out of provisions long before then. Taking into account the women, the children and the craftsmen who had marched into the Forge with them, their camp had well over 12,000 people in it, and even if the small and gloomy huts they'd constructed to house the Army was adequate enough to last through an easy winter, they would not survive with what they had alone. They needed more.

Alexander sighed as he returned to their headquarters, troubled by these thoughts and trying to come up with a solution, and stopped suddenly as he approached his desk. Something was... off. Had his papers been moved? He looked around, but there was no one in the room but himself, of course. Leafing through the missives, he found nothing missing from before he'd left, and yet...

Perhaps he was getting paranoid due to his stress. Seeing brave soldiers and their families struggle plucked at his heartstrings; the young and impoverished orphan in him was reminded of the tougher times his mother had struggled to feed him and Jemmy after his father left, before she’d established connections on St. Croix and her shop was a stable source of income. It was difficult back then for them without having to live through a war on top of everything else.

The young man knew that he had to do something, he had to help...

* * *

_"Absolutely not."_

His suggestion had gone over just about as well as he had expected it to.

Three days absent from camp was not an unreasonable request; he wasn’t sure if his Commander thought him incapable (if he did it could most likely be attributed to his emotional outburst... things hadn’t quite been the same between them since).

Undeterred, Alexander steeled himself for an argument, before realizing that was not the way to go. Approaching this in a hotheaded manner would only serve to irritate the General, not sway him to his cause. Taking a deep breath in order to calm himself, and for the first time in months he was able to bring himself to look him in the eye. "Your Excellency, please, I beg of you to reconsider your position on this matter. We have soldiers without shirts or footwear to their names, some of them have families with them, _little children_. We—" He lowered his gaze, resisting the urge to pick at his fingernails; an anxious habit that he really needed to break. "— _I_ cannot simply stand by and watch them suffer, in good conscience, _knowing_ that there is something I can do about it. At least let me _try_. I have close friends living in Philadelphia who I know will help me if I go to them in person and plead my case." 

There was silence, for a long moment.

Hesitantly raising his violet gaze to look at his Commander, and although his face remained impassive, the boy had gotten to know his mannerisms enough to recognize when he was feeling conflicted.

"Sir," he swallowed and stepped forward, "We _need_ help, it could be months before we are able to move again and I guarantee the British will not leave the city until we force their hand in some way; but we _can't_ do that with an Army that's half dead from starvation and exposure. Philadelphia is very close, I could make it by horse in a single night if you allow me to go speak with Mrs Montebellum, _please—_ "

Upon hearing that, Washington looked up sharply, "You're referring to Tabitha Montebellum and her husband, Nicholas? As in the lawyer and a delegate to Congress?" 

Alexander blinked.

"I... Yes, Sir? I briefly resided with Nico and Tabby while I was enrolled in King's College in 1774, as I had previously met him as a child when he was doing business in St. Croix with my employer, Mr. Cruger." He couldn't help but smile a little bit at the memory, they had been very kind to him, and as an awkward, loud-mouthed kid with very little money or connections in a country completely unfamiliar to him, that had meant the world. 

Using the affectionate nicknames he had given them was a calculated move, one he hoped would further sway Washington to believe his closeness with the couple, which was not a fabrication despite his seeming embellishment.

There was a flicker of... _something_ , in his Excellency's eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it. "I see. Hercules Mulligan had told me you resided with him and his wife Elizabeth while attending college." 

Uh... what did _that_ have to do with anything?

Hamilton shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain how the subject had switched to that of his personal life, but trying to think of a way to use it to his advantage. Perhaps Washington was merely wondering how he had managed to become acquainted with such high profile individuals. "That's correct, Sir, I did. I also lived with Mr. William Livingston for a time while attending Elizabethtown Academy prior to my admission to King’s College," he stated, causing the General's eyes to widen a fraction at the mention of the current Governor of New Jersey. "And then the Montebellums, before becoming roommates with my friend, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Troup." 

"General Gates _Aide-de-Camp_ , yes, I knew of him. Not of the others though..." Washington murmured.

The young man wanted to scream: _What does that even matter to you? Why do you care so much about my past?!_

He didn’t even register the fact that the General said he knew about Robert, implying he had been digging into his life prior to the war. 

Instead, he forced himself not to let his discomfort show, "Yes, well, that is why I am certain they will help me if I go directly to them and ask." 

His Excellency, thank Providence, finally got back onto the correct discussion, "You truly believe you can convince a Congress delegate to lend his assistance to us when our pleas to Congress itself thus far have fallen on deaf ears?" He sounded skeptical, but Alexander latched onto the opening anyways.

"I absolutely do, Sir, yes. Because I will be asking them directly, and not relying on the vote of other Congressmen who either can’t remember or have never experienced what attempting to fight a war while virtually without funding is like. If I am not able to achieve my proposal within two days, I promise I will leave Philadelphia at once and return." 

The Caribbean man could see the exact moment that his Commander had given in, and felt hope pounding his heartbeat against his chest quicker than usual. "Very well, Officer Hamilton, you have my permission to leave camp for three days, no longer." he relented, and Alexander's eyes brightened, until he spoke again, " _However_ , you'll not go alone. I don't want a repeat of what happened at Schuylkill river." 

"But Sir, I came out of that mission unscathed... mostly," He amended his words when Washington gave him an openly _disbelieving_ _look._ "Besides, this is not my first journey into Philadelphia, nor my first mission since the... ah, _misunderstanding_ in September." 

He watched the Virginian raise from his seat, "The city was not crawling with thousands of British soldiers when you ventured into it last time. These are my conditions, Alexander, if you object to them, then you are more than free to remain here." He was acting childish, and he knew it, but Hamilton crossed his arms and looked away, stung by the lack of trust from the man. "If it will make the journey easier on you, you may bring whoever you—”

"Lieutenant Colonel Laurens." Hamilton immediately interjected, no longer as put out by the prospect of company for his endeavor; he very rarely felt uncomfortable around his best friend. 

At the very least it wouldn't be someone like Miller; and John _had_ been extremely worried about him the last couple of times he had left, more so than he usually was, because like Washington he too was irrationally afraid of something bad happening to him while undertaking a relatively simple task, thanks to Schuylkill. 

"As you wish. You're dismissed." He bowed his head and turned to leave, only pausing when the General called out to him, looking over his shoulder. "...and Hamilton? Do be careful." 

Alexander nodded, hand over his heart, "I will do my very best, Sir. I won't let you down."

* * *

Sneaking into the city had been easier than either of them had anticipated; either the Redcoats were getting lazy or their attempts to not draw attention to themselves had gone over remarkably well.

When they arrived, Tabitha greeted him with a kiss on each cheek and a hug that nearly crushed his rib cage, drawing a startled laugh from the young man.

Alexander took it as a sign she still liked him even after he accidentally broke her teapot that one time. 

"Tabby, it's wonderful to see you again, you look as stunning as ever." He bowed low, and brought the woman's hand to his lips as he looked up at her through his lashes, causing her to giggle and blush the way she always had when he turned on the charm (often before scolding him, _‘Stop that! I’m nearly old enough to be your mother!’_ ), before he straightened out and introduced her to his comrade. "Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, Mrs Tabitha Montebellum." “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Ma’am.” He greeted her similarly but shot Alexander an annoyed look when she glanced away; he just winked at the blond, watching him flush with jealousy.

The brunette woman, now in her early thirties but just as lovely and graceful as ever, studied them both closely with her cerulean eyes, "I take it this isn't purely a social visit, then?" 

"I'm afraid not, Ma'am. We arrive on behalf of General Washington’s Continental Army, for we find ourselves in dire straits these days. The future of America is at stake." He said, he cheery tone all at once turning grave.

Unconsciously, Tabitha leaned backwards, scanning over his shoulder; for British soldiers, perhaps? Her husband was a Congress delegate after all; he was surprised she had not fled the city with Nicholas, even if the Brits were not aware that she lived in the city, there were Loyalists everywhere who could top them off, and remaining here was still dangerous in its own right. _Why would she—_

That was when the woman was ushering them out of the cold and into the warm, well-lit house and suddenly it made perfect sense as he found himself looking at the rounded belly of her gown. She was pregnant, _of course_ she didn't leave. Traveling from city to city in order to avoid the Army would not do for a woman carrying a child, especially since she had so much difficulty during the later months with little Isabella. He hadn't been around for her birth over a year before he'd stayed with them (he had babysat her on two occasions though), but he had been present for the majority of her pregnancy with their their second daughter, Nicolette. In later correspondence with Nicholas, he had related his fears to Hamilton that he was worried about the strain any additional pregnancies would have on his wife.

The fact he couldn't be with her right now must have been horrible for him.

"Oh, Tabby, congratulations!" Any air of formality dropped when the door shut behind them, and he took her into his arms and initiated the hug this time around, "How long...?"

She flashed him a beaming smile, "I am due any day now. This one has been fairly easy compared to the girls and, so I'm going to assume he's a by until proven otherwise."

Ah yes, the brunette had always enjoyed joking about how the women in her family were 'difficult' as opposed to the relatively laid back nature of the males on her side. Even so, he couldn't help study her for a moment to make sure she truly was well. Aside from looking a bit tired, she seemed in good health, not too pale or weakened. That was good; he'd hated seeing the kindhearted woman suffer so much before. At sixteen years, old her worsening symptoms had made Alexander rethink wanting to sire a child of his own one day. He’d looked at her and wondered why anyone would _ever_ want to put someone they loved through such unneeded pain?

"My sincerest congratulations to you and your husband, Mrs Montebellum." John said warmly, and she beamed in response.

"None of that now, please call me Tabby, or Tabitha if you are concerned with propriety." Brushing her loose hair back from her face, her expression changed, "Oh, my! I'm being terribly rude, allow Mr. Edwards to take your coats while I prepare some red-bush tea and refreshments, you must be tired from your journey." It was just like Tabitha to not have changed in personality nor grace despite being so close to giving birth to her second child. 

As soon as she had swept out of the room, John looked at him with his brows raised, _"Red-bush?"_ he mouthed.

He couldn't help but grin back in return, "She and her husband are true supporters of the American cause, Laurens. They've been purchasing locally sourced products from our Patriot citizens or from the Native Indians only, including herbal tea. She vowed to not use anything associated with Britain or the East India Company."

The blond smiled in understanding and approval, which warmed him. John really ought to smile more, it looked good on him.

* * *

While they easily could have spent half the night talking and just catching up, Tabitha requested that they continue discussing the ways in which she could assist the Army tomorrow, her energy much more easily drained than normal. He was glad, at least, that she was attempting to take it easy; he knew that dear Nicholas would be devastated if anything happened to her in his absence, and so would he.

Before having them shown to their rooms, she took Alexander by the arm and told him that he looked good in uniform, and that she sincerely hoped she would get to raise her children in a nation free from British tyranny. 

He retired with a smile on his face, feeling optimistic that they would be able to get their comrades the things they needed.

There was a large stone fireplace already lit in the guest chambers, which he deeply appreciated; although it was mild out for the season Tabitha clearly remembered his disdain for cool temperatures, having grown up in the Caribbean where cold weather was a rarity; he had never even experienced snow until the winter after he arrived in the Colonies, it just didn’t get that cold in the islands, nor even in the mountainous regions. He took down a few notes about their meeting for the General to read over later and then prepared to wash up and turn in for the evening. 

Just as he was about to undress, there was a soft knock at the door. 

Abandoning his task for the moment, Hamilton crossed the room and, pulling the door open, found Laurens on the other side, looking concerned, "Is everything alright, John?"

"May I come in?"

Confused, Alexander stepped aside to grant him access, making sure no one was in the hallway to witness this before shutting the door once again. He turned around only for the blond to press him up against it with a kiss, startling him. 

"Mm... not that I'm complaining, because I am _most assuredly_ not, but... what are you doing?" 

John pulled back with his cheeks flushed, "Apologies, but I was worried about you. I didn't want to say anything in front of Mrs Montebellum but you seemed... not quite yourself when we first arrived. Is there something troubling you?" Actually he was feeling a little possessive because of Alex and Tabby’s flirty and easygoing relationship, but he _was_ also genuinely concerned.

Alexander frowned.

There was quite a bit that was troubling him actually. The fact that Washington seemed to be getting overly protective in a way that bothered him for a reason he couldn't explain, and how his chances for glory were diminishing with each passing day that he remained bound to his quill and desk and not on the field where he belonged, also that the people they cared for could be killed at any point while he was helpless to stop it, and that someone may have gone through his papers while he was out of the office... 

Instead of saying any of that however, he told him, "I cannot figure out how Tabitha's bath is meant to function and it is bothering me to no end." 

His lover stared at him for a moment, before - almost hesitantly - peering into the adjoining room, and then suddenly he started _laughing_. 

"Care to clue me in on what's so amusing, my dear Laurens?" He asked, more playful than offended.

John continued chuckling as he said, shaking his head, "I think perhaps the issue here is that it's not a bath, for starters, Alexander. It's a shower." _Oh_. Hamilton had heard of them, of course, but it was his first time seeing with his own eyes. From what he'd read they were terribly expensive. "My father mentioned in a recent letter that he was thinking about having one installed at home. Look, you heat the water here and then you stand in the basin and have it poured over you by servant or family member after cooling it to a safe temperature." 

"I... isn't that a bit much?" Alexander was baffled; why on Earth would anyone prefer that over bathing? It seemed unnecessarily complicated. What was wrong with enjoying the access to clean water with oils and herbs poured into it? That was how many of the elites in the Colonies kept clean, in addition to scraping the grime from their bodies and hair washing, of course. Bathing at least allowed you privacy.

Smiling fondly, the blond told him to move so he could show him how to use it.

If John could tell he hadn't been completely honest about what was bothering him, he didn't point it out. 

"See, the water is heated. Take your clothes off." He instructed, rolling his eyes when the redhead blanched, "It's okay, Alexander. No one is going to come in here this late at night, and it's hardly the first time I've seen you—"

Alexander hissed in shock, " _Shh!_ Lower your voice, would you? This isn't like back at camp, Laurens. There's no such thing as an _open secret_ among brothers here. I have no desire to be court-martialled so please be cautious about what you say, you never know who could be listening." It wasn't that he had an issue with what John said, but rather the volume and timing of it; there was a possibility some of the servants still lingered the halls or that they possessed especially keen hearing. He did not want them to overhear anything... untoward. 

The older male sighed, but didn't push it, for he knew the younger man was correct. "Do you want me to help you or not?" 

Reluctantly, Alexander nodded, and began to undress himself, shedding his uniform coat first, followed by his boots and waistcoat, buckles and belts, his breeches and finally his stockings and the garters that held them up. He could _feel_ John's gaze on him the whole time and knew that he was enjoying the view, though he was not bothered by it. It was always rather flattering to see the way Laurens would rake his gaze up and down his figure whenever his skin was uncovered. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt so he could pull it off over his head, leaving him bare as he turned away, folding everything neatly and placing it all on the nearby shelf to keep it dry. His face felt hot when he lifted his eyes to meet the other's, opening his mouth to speak and—

_Boom!_

A quiet but startled cry left Alexander as he jumped, his face instantly draining of color at the sound of thunder crashing from above.

Suddenly, he was fifteen years old again.

 _He could see the monstrous cylindrical walls of death incarnate coming for them from miles away, flickers of lightning inside it and the sound of screaming as the eyewall of the storm approached._ _But there was nowhere to go, no way to escape it in time, any attempt would be suicide._ _Oh, Lord, it was getting closer, they were never going to make it._ _The winds were picking up at a violent speed and the rain poured harder than he could ever recall. They had to get to higher ground before it reached them!_ _He was terrified, he didn't want to die!_

Alexander's hands were trembling fiercely when John gripped them in his own, meeting the wild, panicky eyes with his own calm but serious ones, "Hamilton, look at me, it's okay."

"Th-The hurricane." He whispered, stricken. 

John winced sympathetically and squeezed his hands in comfort, "I know, but it's just a normal thunderstorm, no different than any of the others we've had this season. Take a deep breath." 

He shut his eyes tightly and did as he was told, but found the memories even more intense with his vision gone so he opened them once more. 

"That's it, deep breaths. Easy." Familiar lips pressed against his forehead, and he exhaled, some of the tension leaking out of his shoulders. "Good. C'mon, sit on the bench and the water will help you warm up, okay? Just listen to the sound of my voice, nothing outside matters right now." he reassured, as Alexander nodded in agreement, swinging his leg over the wall of the tub so he could get in. 

* * *

Sometimes, John couldn't help but marvel at Alexander's strength. 

He tried so hard to be brave, even when he was clearly scared beyond words. By all rights he should've been a melancholic, alcoholic mess after everything he'd gone through. His father leaving, the traumatic deaths of his mother and cousin that he still had nightmares over, losing almost all of his extended family one right after another, and then nearly dying in the hurricane, in addition to the things he'd witnessed on St. Croix that made John shudder just from thinking about the cruelty that had been described to him only briefly. 

No one would have blamed him if he'd finished school and decided to settle down as a farmer or a lawyer; instead he volunteered to join a barely functioning Army when he was still a teenager.

So what did he do when things began to look rough? 

Offer himself up to sneak into a city filled with their enemies who had no qualms about killing or torturing "traitors", in order to be of use in every way he possibly could.

But John was privy to the sides of Alexander that the younger man refused to show other people; the side of him that sometimes couldn't help but collapse under the weight of his own brilliance, who knew how painfully _fleeting_ life was and was so desperate to make something of the time he was given that he might just end up cutting his own life short in his need to not be forgotten. If it was possible to literally work oneself to death, Laurens had no idea how Alexander hadn't managed it yet. He barely slept, needed to be reminded to eat because, in his own words, he just didn't _"feel the effects of hunger the way most people do."_ For God's sake, this man spent every moment of free time he had during college writing essay after essay in support of the Patriot cause. 

He had been offered the opportunity to be Aide-de-Camp to _four_ different high-ranking individuals (William Alexander a.k.a. Lord Stirling, Nathanael Greene, Henry Knox and Alexander McDougall) before finally accepting the position with General Washington, because that was how _badly_ he wanted to be fighting on the front lines. 

Yet, he never wavered in his loyalty nor his conviction in front of others if he could help it, a rare exception being with John himself, and one time with the Commander, and only because he was so unwell he couldn't properly rein in his emotions, according to the former Artillery Captain. Truth be told, the blond just thought that Hamilton perhaps had no idea _how_ to let others into his heart. Considering all he'd lost it was no wonder he found people untrustworthy when it came to his personal demons; if he looked at it from his point of view, it made sense - when had relying on other people _ever_ turned out well for Alexander? 

John was... unsure what to think of their close relationship, he'd never intended it. 

Somehow they had just... _clicked_. 

Hercules had told him, in confidence, that Alexander was a much different person when he first arrived in the Colonies.

Apparently the immigrant had been just as intelligent, but also skittish, curious, underweight, guarded, lonely and frightened with a false bravado you could pick up on from miles away, that he'd teared up when Elizabeth Mulligan had affectionately called him 'sweetheart' the first time, but flinched at any loud noise or anything resembling a raised hand. That last one had made his blood boil at the thought that somebody must have _hit_ Alexander to make him so nervous. 

The fact that the redhead was comfortable enough around John to show a more vulnerable side of himself made him feel both privileged and pained; because he knew this couldn't last forever, what was between them... either one of them would die or they'd both make it to the end of the war, with any luck, and inevitably life would take them on separate paths.

John knew what sort of road he was heading down, knew that he was never going to stop fighting for what he thought was right... even if it killed him.

He really hoped Alexander would be there to fight alongside him, even though that was a selfish thing to ask. 

As the younger male stepped into the basin he couldn't help letting his eyes roam over his body as they had so many times before; he still remembered the first time they'd dared to remove their clothing in front of one another, blushing like schoolboys and giggling against each others’ mouth. He'd taken one look at Alexander and immediately realized the extent of his resilience, seeing the scars that decorated his skin all over his fellow soldier's slim physique. He hadn't asked about them, although if he was honest with himself it was more because he was afraid of what the stories behind them would be; the young New Yorker had assumed something else entirely different based on his reaction. 

_"...Changed your mind about this?" Hamilton asked wryly, catching Laurens' gaze lingering on the faded lines from where a scalpel once sliced deeply into his arm, in an effort to drain the disease from his bloodstream._

_The blond had responded by wrapping his arms around the younger boy, drawing him into a long, lingering kiss that erased his fears. "Not even a little."_

All of these thoughts and more flitted through the man's mind as he absently told the other to tilt his head back, shielding his eyes with his hand as he poured the heated water down over his long, coppery hair, watching it darken nearly to black as it was soaked and Alexander ran his fingers through it with the oils provided (apparently the Montebellums enjoyed living lavishly in more than just a dinner setting), and the perfumed scent of the herbal concoction filled the air. 

Despite the storm having picked up outside, Alexander seemed to be doing better, likely because the sound of the water was drowning out some of the noise the thunder had been creating.

Hamilton reached for one of the linens folded on the nearby shelf, and John beat him to it before he could stand, "Here, let me..." 

The man shot him an inquisitive look but didn't object as John sat by his side and soaked the cloth, pushing his hair to drape over one shoulder and rubbing the soft fabric up and down over his back and shoulders, gently scrubbing away the oils and smiling as Alexander's tense muscles relaxed from the heat and repetitive circular motions, exhaling softly and tilting his head back, eyes falling shut for a moment, and his skin seemed to almost glow in the incandescence of the nearby candles.

John stubbornly ignored the pang of longing he felt, looking at the beautiful man who had walked into his life and stolen his heart without any effort at all.

 _It won't last_ , his mind whispered.

A lump that grew in his throat made it difficult to breathe, suddenly.

"Hey," he blinked and realized Alexander was now staring at him, his expression softened with concern. He reached out to brush his wet fingertips along the edge of the other's jaw, and John leaned into it unconsciously. "Are you okay?" 

In response, the Carolinian smiled, pushing those thoughts to the deepest part of his mind so he wouldn't dwell on it, "I'm absolutely fine, Alexander."

* * *

Turquoise eyes fluttered open as the ivory comb parted from his scalp, and he glanced back over his shoulder at the other man, "You know, we really should be going to sleep soon. We have to leave by tomorrow evening if we want to make it back before our three days are up, and there’s still plenty to discuss with Mrs Tabitha in the morning." 

Alexander gave a noncommittal hum, still running his hands through the normally strawberry-honey-blond hair that shone almost silver thanks to the moonlight casting its luminescence through the open curtains. "Dear Laurens, do you believe I am keeping you here against your will? You may go to sleep anytime you so desire." There was a playful edge to his tone.

Both men knew they had no intention of separating tonight, this was just how they _were_. The easygoing, playful back-and-forth they shared had been present almost since day one.

"I know, Alexander. I wouldn’t have come to your room if I didn’t want to do so, I just don't want you to feel..." John's voice trailed off as the younger man began planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the bare expanse of his neck and shoulder, taking a deep breath while Hamilton's arms wound around him from behind, stroking his hands up and over his abdomen, his chin resting in the crook of his neck. "...as though you have to do anything, now or ever. You don’t owe it to me to do this. I'd understand if you wouldn't want to." 

"Oh, and why wouldn't I?" 

The blond bit back the hurtful reply on the tip of his tongue. 

_Because it's wrong? Because the further we let this continue on, the greater chances that I could ruin your life and damn your soul just because I can't seem to let you go? Because you deserve more than I'll ever be able to give? Because your first time ought to be with someone who you love, and with whom you intend to spend the rest of your life? Because—_

He was drawn almost violently from his own thoughts when Hamilton pulled him backwards suddenly, until his back was molded to the other's chest, and John let out a shuddering breath as he felt every part of Alexander's body pressed flush against his own; the redhead ran his warm hands almost _protectively_ up and down John’s naked body, cradling him close as though he were something precious, before wrapping them around his cock and stroking him slowly.

His breath hitched when Hamilton nuzzled his throat.

“Dearest John, does it _feel_ like I don’t want this?” Alexander nearly purred in his ear as he caressed his slowly awakening arousal, and the blond felt his cheeks redden as the younger man’s length twitched and hardened against him from behind, instinctively spreading his legs more and leaning back into his lover’s chest.

God, he always felt so _weak_ for Alexander. His touch, his silky seductive words... John may have taken the more active role, physically, in their relationship, but it was moments like these that reminded him exactly whom was in control more often than not. "I-I... I just want you to be _sure_. I don't want you to regret this." He stammered, biting his lip as his hips began to move into Alexander’s touch of their own accord. _I don’t want you to regret me._ “Ahh... _Alex..._ ” he closed his eyes against the vision of his length in Alexander’s skillful hands as he teased the flushed and swollen tip, his fingers curling into the blanket beneath them.

"Look at me. Please." Reluctantly, he turned his head, looking back over his shoulder to find himself staring into that beautiful Delphinium gaze, one of his hands moving to cup his face, an action which felt immediately _right_ , comforting and kind. His stern expression softened at the genuine worry he saw reflected in the elder's face. "John Laurens, I have never felt more _sure_ of anything or _anyone_ in my life." He whispered, turning him in his arms so he could kiss him soundly, erasing almost every doubt he had as his arms curled around John's neck. 

As soon as Laurens relaxed into it, Alexander tugged him forward to lay down on him as he fell backwards onto the bed, sharing several more slow, intimate kisses before they parted for air, both men breathing deeply. The weight of the other male felt both incredibly comforting and arousing.

Observing Hamilton's encouraging expression, he couldn't help but smile down at him, and the younger male's face immediately lit up at the sight of it. _He needs to smile more..._

John bent forward and covered the boy's mouth with his own, kissing him with less hesitance than before, his hand coming up to slide through the now mostly dry auburn locks, licking his bottom lip and slipping his tongue into Alexander's mouth when he parted his lips, drinking in the sound of his quiet moan as he ran his hands down Laurens back, a whimper emitting from the back of his throat when the blond's knee slid up between his thighs, goosebumps breaking out all over his bare skin.

By the time Alexander reluctantly ripped his face away from his lover's, he was flushed and panting, his pupils were dilated and he shot the older man an almost pleading look, spreading his legs wider. "John, please... I need you..."

He shuddered at the sound of the boy's voice, warm and rich like honey, and intertwined his hand with the immigrant's above his head, smiling, "Soon, Alex, I promise." 

More than reassured by this point, John feathered his lips across Alexander's once more, peppering kisses along the soft tapering curve of his jaw and down his throat, feeling his pulse hammer away in nervous anticipation, a pleasurable sigh leaving him when the blond nipped at his collarbone before trailing further downwards, releasing the younger man's hand to stroke his palms up over his torso, massaging his arms and chest until he had all but melted beneath him, humming happily. 

Alexander's eyes shut and he had to hold back his gasp as John's mouth ghosted across his chest, feeling the tickle of his breath before a wet heat suddenly enveloped one of his nipples, causing him to arch up into the sensation as the blond gently bit and sucked the rosy flesh until he was squirming below him. The man on top of him evidently realized his struggle because he could feel John's body shaking with silent laughter as he ran his hands and lips over his stomach and hips. _Bastard_. 

He felt dizzy with sensation, and they had barely even begun. 

_"Mon Alexandre, tu es si belle..."_ John whispered and Alexander blinked his eyes open as his mind automatically translated the words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the desire he felt. 

Then, the familiar head of golden curls disappeared between his legs and Alexander crossed his arms over his face, muffling a cry against his wrist as John swallowed his cock down to the hilt without a moment's hesitation, instinctively trying to buck his hips up into that wonderful velvety heat of his mouth, to no avail. His hips were quickly pinned to the bed as John drew back to stroke up and down his straining length with that damned _tongue_ of his, the younger boy's body trembling as the flush spread down his neck and across his chest, moaning brokenly at the merciless teasing. 

"Patience, my dear Hamilton. There's no need to rush." John whispered, his voice hoarse with lust as he watched his best friend groan and toss his head back against the pillows in frustration.

He traced his thumbs along the delicate skin of his inner thighs before pressing a feathery light kiss to the tip of his cock, and delving even further down, his tongue grazing over his testicles and sending another shiver down Alex’s lithe frame. 

The older man could hear Alexander shift on the bed, confused now as he felt the blond's descent continue downwards and spread his legs wider out of habit, shuddering at the feeling of John’s day old stubble brushing against his sensitive inner thighs. He opened his mouth to ask the other man what he was doing (and possibly beg him to stop teasing and take him into his mouth already) when the blond spread his cheeks apart and licked a fat, wet stripe right across his exposed hole.

His lover choked on his own air in shock, twisting in the Southerner's grip and trying to sit up in order to look at him, but Laurens merely adjusted his hold on him and dove right in, flicking his tongue insistently over the redhead’s entrance, lapping at him and occasionally pressing the tip of his tongue inside, his thumb rubbing at the boy’s perineum, making everything slippery with his saliva.

Above him, Alexander had collapsed onto his back once more and was writhing against the bed, his hand clamped firmly over his own mouth out of fear he might accidentally shout and wake up the entire estate.

Good Lord, his body was on _fire_.

Every inch of him trembled in John’s grasp while the blond licked and sucked and occasionally nibbled gently at him, the flames of pleasure sliding up through his spine and dancing across every nerve ending in his body as his face blushed scarlet, because this was filthy and debauched and the sheer sensation was overwhelming him. The fact that he was _enjoying it_ so thoroughly made shame burn through him and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to make John stop or beg him _not_ to.

The way the older male was running circles around the clenching hole with his hot, wet tongue was positively _obscene_ , but especially so when John suddenly pressed closer to Alexander and just thrust his tongue into him altogether. The boy jerked and let out a muffled sob as the tight muscle gradually loosened under his insistent ministrations, his thighs shaking in the older male's strong grip, his legs curling around the back of John's neck as he twisted and squirmed beneath him.

Eventually, Alexander couldn’t stand it anymore, his arm fell away from his face and he whined, “Ahh... oh my _God..._ ahhh hnnngh... _John..._ ” his voice came out strangled and desperate-sounding but he for once couldn't bring himself to care about how he sounded. “...J-John, _please_.” He fumbled to run his hands through the blond’s soft golden hair and whimpered pathetically when he couldn’t reach down that far due to the way the older male had lifted his lower half up into the air, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket instead as that coiling pressure grew hotter and hotter in the pit of his belly, winding up tight like a spring getting ready to snap.

Soon, his best friend took pity on him, one hand snaking up from his hip to between Hamilton’s legs to cover his cock, stroking him in a loose fist in tandem with the rhythmic thrusting of his tongue, and it wasn’t long before Alexander frantically bit down on his knuckles to muffle his helpless cry as his body was overwhelmed by orgasm, toes curling and eyes watering, shaking from the barrage of ecstasy.

He collapsed against the bed, shivering and panting breathlessly, and felt John scoot back up on the bed and sprinkle kisses across his sweaty neck and chest, but he didn’t speak and he seemed to be reaching for—

_Oh!_

All at once, Alexander’s brain caught up to speed when he saw the pretty glass bottle from the bathing chambers in Laurens’ hand. _Almond oil_. It was usually for baths and massages and some people cooked with it but John had assured him it was safe for this purpose, and he had ignored the small curl of jealousy he’d felt wondering how the older man was able to be so _certain_.

He knew it was going to hurt and—that was a given so Alexander wasn’t _scared_ exactly. How bad could it be, after all? He highly doubted men (and some women, if the gossip of the _filles de joie_ that frequently loitered around their camp could be believed) would be so eager about finding inconspicuous ways to engage in such activity if it was agonizing—though it did not temper his desire to try in the slightest, to say he wasn’t _nervous_ about what they were going to do would be a... blatant lie.

John must have seen the look on his face when it all fell together, for he dropped the bottle on the bed and bent forward to take Hamilton’s face in his hands, “Alexander...” he hesitated and, worried the other man would talk himself out of it, the redhead pulled him down to kiss him hungrily, mildly surprised that the taste of himself on John’s lips was tantalizing, rather than repulsive.

The blond ran his hands down Alexander’s flushed and still trembling body, invading the younger boy’s mouth with his tongue, prompting a shiver and groan of desire as it flickered in and out in a suggestive manner, erotically mimicking the main event that they were building up to.

Suddenly, Laurens pulled back, his eyes nearly black with lust, his hands still on the redhead’s face, “Alexander... are you sure?” He gasped.

“Yes. John... _please_.” Alexander begged, the need for something more intimate than anything else burning him up inside. He wanted to give himself to this man, completely. “I-I need you...”

The unconditional trust in his eyes made Laurens’ heart swell, and he had to swallow down the feeling of not deserving it.

Instead he nodded and covered Alexander’s mouth with another deep kiss before reaching for the discarded bottle. He popped it open and poured a liberal amount into his hand before replacing the cork. Strong, warm hands gripped Hamilton’s thighs and he felt John rubbing and massaging the oil into his hips, heard him whisper, “You have to relax and let me in, my Alexander, I don’t want to hurt you...”

He hadn’t even realized his muscles were so tense he was trembling.

Alexander took a deep breath and forced his body to relax, looking up uncertainly and seeing the Southerner smile at him reassuringly.

He was expecting it, but the younger man still startled slightly when he felt the slick finger rubbing against his entrance, squirming at the sensation and biting his bottom lip. A moment later he gasped and moaned as John slid his index finger inside of him, the strange sensation causing him to roll his hips in a bid to get used to it, shivering. He was still sensitive from his earlier climax, his body heated and tingling all over.

"You have a scar on your neck, I've never noticed it before..." His lover murmured, brushing his lips over the curving line as the other man tilted his head instinctively to give him more access.

It took Hamilton longer than he would admit to understand what he was saying, "Oh, that. I fell through a glass table when I was twelve." Hearing that, John looked up, his expression stunned. He couldn't help but laugh, "I was in the warehouse trying to get an important box of files for Mr. Cruger, but I was too short to reach it on the top shelf, so I climbed up onto the table. It ended up being heavier than I had anticipated and I toppled backwards.... right through the glass."

He was still laughing, and the blond gave him a strange look. "Mm, the physician who saw me afterwards didn't think it was funny either. He said I nearly severed an artery." 

"Jesus, Alex." he shook his head; how the hell the other had even _survived_ long enough to make it to the Colonies was beyond him.

Leaning in close, John feathered the redhead’s face in kisses, gently biting at his earlobe as he slid another finger inside him, feeling his best friend tense and groan, no longer laughing. Alexander was tight, and Laurens feared that no matter how well prepared he was, the initial penetration was going to hurt him; he would do everything possible to minimize just how much.

The blond stroked and spread his fingers apart gently inside of Alexander, trying to get him accustomed to the stretch, and suddenly curled them up, causing the young man to jerk with a cry of shocked surprise, his cock already beginning to swell with arousal again. John brushed his mouth across his chest, nibbling and sucking on his nipples as he worked a third finger inside of him, listening to the continuous soft moans spilling from the other’s lips.

He was so beautiful, his Alexander. Cheeks flushed and eyes hazy with desire, sweat dappling his fair skin and the muscles in his legs trembling slightly as he pushed his head deeper into the pillow and bared his neck for the blond, sighing each time his lips brushed over a particularly sensitive spot.

Panting in desire by the time the elder withdrew his fingers, Alexander watched through half-lidded eyes as John poured more of the oil into his hand and spread it over his own erection, and then those strong arms were curling around his hips and pulling him closer.

His breath hitched when he felt the blunt head pressing against him, and Alexander instinctively reached up to bite at his fingers again, but Laurens caught his hand, examining the teeth marks and reddened skin with a concerned purse of his lips and furrowed brows. Wordlessly he gathered both of the boy’s wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head where he couldn’t hurt himself by accident; and Alexander _let_ him.

Those azure-violet eyes were wide, but so, _so_ warm and trusting despite how exposed and helpless he felt.

Slowly, John pushed forward, feeling the younger man’s body give to the unyielding pressure as he sank into Alexander slowly, inch by inch, ignoring the pang of regret he felt when the redhead tensed and squeezed his eyes shut, his hands curling into fists above his head while he arched his hips, trying in vain to alleviate the sharp ache emitting from between his legs. A pained whine left him that tore at the blond's heart. “Shhh, relax, _le mon chéri_ , the pain will fade, I promise. _Se détendre, laissez moi dans_.“ he breathed, nearly wincing at the squeeze of muscles around him, pressing in as deeply as he could and then finally stilling, an attempt to get the unpleasant part over with as quickly as possible.

His lover shifted underneath him experimentally and gasped, biting his lip hard as tears trickled out from beneath closed lashes.

John swore and wiped them away with his thumb, exhaling shakily. 

Fuck, this was a bad idea, if _he_ was nearly in pain from the redhead's tightness he couldn't imagine how much suffering it was causing Alex. They'd gone too far, they weren't ready, he hadn't prepared him enough and now he was _hurting_ him. This wasn't what he'd wanted. _"Amour, détends ton corps s'il te plait. Je vais m'arrêter, laissez-moi prendre sortir. Je ne veux pas te faire de mal."_

"N-No..." His lover's voice was wavering when he spoke, and he shook his head slightly, still gritting his teeth.

Alexander drew in a shuddering breath, blinking the tears from his eyes, his chest rose and fell quickly as John bottomed out, and he was all but impaled on his length. He panted and swallowed, trying to sort out how he felt. On one hand it hurt... a _lot..._ the urge to squirm away from the body molded against his own was a strong one, and yet each time he moved even a little bit he felt close to sobbing from the stretch; Laurens was not a small man.

But in a strange way, the ache felt... good. He could feel every inch of John inside him, hot, thick and throbbing, and the pleasure buzzing between his legs hadn’t lessened at all despite the pain, his cock was hard and leaking against his stomach where it was trapped between them, begging for friction. Just thinking about the fact that John was on him, _in him_ , made Alex want to writhe and groan. He felt a hand gingerly touch his face and opened his eyes, focusing his blurred vision on the face above his own, which was a mask of worry and guilt.

The older man's aquamarine eyes were full of sympathy and remorse as he gazed down at him, his eyebrows pinched in concern as he took in the younger’s trembling limbs and strained expression, his own muscles taut from the effort not to move. “...Alexander?”

“I just... need a minute. But, I am well,” he croaked quietly, swallowing. It wasn't a lie, the longer they were like this - John doing his best not to move a muscle and Hamilton stretched to the brim around him - the more tolerable the ache became, until it was no longer unbearable. The adoration in Laurens’ eyes almost made his chest hurt; he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him with such fondness. “Thank you, John... for being with me...” he whispered.

_For caring about me even when I’m difficult to get along with, for not giving up even when I push you away, and still being my dearest friend when my stupid pride gets in the way of everything. I know I'm not easy to want, or to get close to._

John kissed his forehead, sweetly, and the tension further leaked out of him, his shoulders relaxing at the assurance.

“Always, my dearest Alexander.” He murmured, and - for _some_ reason - he kept speaking, “I will always be here for you... to hold you, protect you, to take care of you... no matter what... I love you, Alexander,” he said and the redhead stopped breathing entirely when he heard that. John could see the _fear_ in the younger man’s eyes, and he knew exactly why such declarations frightened him. It was the same reason he shied away from Washington’s paternal affection and had (unsuccessfully) tried to keep his friends at arm’s length in the beginning with his energy, snark and chatterbox tendencies. “I _love_ you, each and every part of you... even the mask you wear for the world. I will never stop loving you, and I refuse to pretend otherwise any longer. I swear on my mother's grave, Alexander, that for as long as I am alive... you will _never_ be left alone again...”

Speechless, he turned his head towards the window, and Alexander stared off into the distance, his eyes sparkling with tears.

A kind hand brushed them away as they welled up and fell down his cheek, and John bent down and kissed him passionately, until Alexander relaxed underneath him once more. Then he pulled back, carefully withdrawing his length from the other’s body until just the tip remained inside of him, and then he pushed forward, thrusting in one motion to bury himself to the hilt again.

“Nnnnnh!” Alexander cried out and arched underneath him, his head thrown back against the pillows as John gently pistoned his hips forward and back, feeling the tight inner walls stretching to accommodate his size each time, a welcome mix of pleasure and pain shooting up the immigrant’s spine. “ _Aaahhh hah..._ Nnnngh... oh _John..._ ”

He accidentally thrust a little too hard once and Alexander’s eyes flew open wide when he felt a jolt of something that was distinctly _not_ pain sear through him.

The younger soldier's cheeks went red as he heard the embarrassing noises he was making, and he curled his leg around the back of John’s hips, pleading with him softly; for what, he didn’t know. Fortunately it seemed John _did_ because he released the boy’s wrists and threaded his fingers through his downy auburn hair, cupping the back of Alexander’s head while the other one gripped the swell of his ass tightly as he started to rock forward into the other man, drinking in the sound of his breathy cries.

“Ohhh... God, _John_.” Alexander whimpered and moaned, his hips lifting unconsciously into the thrusts, trying to get more. More of that stretch, more of those sparks dancing up through his body, lighting him up from the inside. “Ahh... haaah... _please...._ Oh!”

John chuckled breathlessly, dropping his lips down against Hamilton's brow and showering his neck in kisses as the boy lifted his shaking arms to wrap around the blond, gripping his shoulders. The Southerner caught his gaze and smiled when Alexander blushed self-consciously, unable to resist capturing his plush lips again, nibbling and sucking gently. "Tell me, Alex, tell what you need..."

His legs trembled and he gasped at a particularly deep thrust, keening, "Please!" 

"Please _what?_ Do you want me to stop?" He asked, suppressing a grin when the younger boy's eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. "No? How about this, then?" He snaked a hand down between their intertwined bodies and massaged Alexander's swollen length, and the former Artillery Captain slammed his head back against the pillows and reached a hand towards his mouth, his face scarlet. " _Ah ah_ , none of that." The blond released his erection and grabbed his wrist, pinning it over his head once more, brushing their noses together teasingly, "Come on, Alexander. Don't go silent on me now... I know how much you love to speak. Just say what you need." 

"...H-harder!" Alexander finally cried out, helpless beneath John's touch, his words, his _everything_. He felt like he was going insane. " _Baise-moi plus fort_ , please, John! I can't... can't take it..." his words degenerated into incoherent whines and moans as Laurens obliged, shoving deeper and rougher into the younger man.

He thrust his fingers into his lover's mouth to muffle his sounds when his voice grew louder with every thrust, the sensation of the blond slamming into his prostate making his vision blur as he sucked at the invading digits desperately. " _God_ , Alexander," John's voice rasped out, as he took in the _sight_ of the younger man trembling underneath him, looking like the most concupiscent artwork he'd ever seen, his chest, neck and cheeks all rosy with blood, sweat plastering that deep russet hair against his pearly skin, his red lips wrapped around Laurens fingers as he moaned and whimpered against them, blue eyes so deep and dark he could nearly get lost in them.

"You feel so good, so perfect... _fuck..._ I love you." he breathed, feeling his body gearing up for that sweet, blissful release. 

The Carolinian picked up the pace suddenly, and Alexander threw his head back, crying out when the older man replaced the fingers in his mouth with his tongue, wrapping his saliva-slicked hand around the younger boy's cock, pumping him hard and fast, and moments later felt him writhe, nails raking down the blond's shoulder as he came with a silenced wail under him. 

It was the sting of Alexander's fingernails scraping down his back and feeling him spasm around his erection that brought John over the edge, burying himself in the depths of the younger man as white hot pleasure consumed them both. 

* * *

Alexander let out a shuddering moan as he fell back against the bed, gasping for air, his whole body abuzz with sensation. 

He felt John's face burrowed against his collarbone, and reached up to slowly brush his quivering fingers through the sweaty and matted flaxen locks, gently scratching at it and feeling him hum against his skin in response. They were both more or less silent. 

Eventually, after a few minutes of trying to catch their breath, the older male reluctantly peeled himself off of the younger, unwrapping his shaky and numb legs from around his waist. Carefully, almost unnecessarily so, John pulled his softening member out of the redhead, who groaned at the wonderful ache he felt pulsating through him. He was in a state of complete bliss. 

Until he heard John gasp, "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Alexander's half-lidded eyes snapped open and he shot up to a sitting position - concerned - and a loud yelp left his mouth without his permission as a sharp pain shot up his backside, "Ow!" 

Immediately he felt John's arms around him, pulling him down to lay across his lap, "Shhh, don't move, don't... oh, _fuck me_. You're bleeding, Alex." The mouth on John Laurens when they were away from other listening ears always startled Hamilton, because in the eyes of others, the Southerner was a perfect gentleman, with a refined vocabulary and a classy demeanor despite his passionate political views. Get him alone, under extreme stress or with a drink in his hand, however, and you would be learning a new curse word or two before the end of the night. "Alexander, did you hear me? I'm going to clean you up and take a look, okay?" 

That was when the rest of what John said sank in, and he realized that they might have gone a bit overboard; he hadn't expected their activities to make him bleed.

 _Whoops_. 

He felt the blond reach over and grab the wet cloth from the small basin of now cool water that he had set aside, felt it press against his entrance and winced in discomfort, trying to wriggle away from it, but John pinned his hips down firmly, "I said _don't move_ , Hamilton." The sound of his surname and the dead serious tone the other used made him falter, and Alexander looked up, finding John's face had gone hard, his jaw was set... and his eyes were shining. _Oh, no..._

"John..." The other man avoided looking at his face, putting himself to work in using the washcloth, gently dabbing away the blood, and washing the sweat from his chest and neck, silently.

He could tell the older man was serious, as he propped up Alexander's hips and pressed the cloth against him once more, prompting him to make an effort to remain still, no matter how uncomfortable the sensation was. He couldn't stop his sharp inhale when Laurens gently slipped a single finger inside of him again and carefully felt around for the source of the bleeding, a sound which prompted the blond to look up quickly, "Does that hurt?" he asked, his tone somewhat softer than before.

Alexander shook his head, "No, not really. A little sore perhaps, but nothing severe," he said breathlessly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. 

Normally, John would tease him whenever he showed embarrassment, or say that it was cute; he almost wished that would happen in order to ease the sudden tension. But it didn't; instead his best friend simply nodded slowly and withdrew, letting out a breath that sounded relieved, "Good, it's slowing..." 

With that said he went back to tending to caring for Alexander, ignoring his quiet half-hearted protests. 

By the end, the younger man was propped up against the many unnecessarily lavish pillows that topped the bed, the washcloth tucked underneath him, and the blankets wrapped around him after he'd begun shivering. Normally he would relish at being cared for this way, so tenderly, but he couldn't find any comfort in it knowing his companion was mentally berating himself for this.

"I should go..." Laurens finally said and he sat forward, alarmed, especially when he saw the blond drag a hand down his face, trying to inconspicuously wipe away the tears that had started to fall.

He touched John’s face imploringly, and the older man closed his eyes and put his hand over Alexander's, kissing the inside of his wrist apologetically. Alexander swallowed, his heart hurting on behalf of the other, especially because the blame was all self-inflicted, _he_ wasn't upset at all. "No, don't do that to yourself, dear. This? This is _nothing_. I am more than okay." 

"But I _hurt_ you." His voice cracked; he sounded close to breaking down, like this was everything he had been afraid of, and Alexander remembered that this had been a first for _him_ too. John had described his previous interactions with men as... quick, seedy, desperate and more or less free of attachment, and all but once before had he been the receiving party. This was as new for him as it was Alexander.

Pushing himself to sit up despite John's (and his body's) protests, Hamilton hooked his arms around the blond's neck, pulling him down for a kiss that was soft and chaste, "Look at me, Laurens." He murmured seriously, and the other man reluctantly met his eyes, his own red-rimmed. "I don't regret it, at all. This has been one of the most _wonderful_ nights of my life. In a fit of passion I asked you for more and you obliged, so I am equally at fault if not more so for the bleeding. _You_ didn't hurt me; _we_ simply went a little overboard, together, that's all. If I were actually in pain I would have told you, okay? I feel so good right now..." he laid his head against John's chest, prompting him to curl his arms around Alex and hold him close. "So don't chastise yourself too much for this. Understand?" 

John hesitated, before his shoulders dropped and he sighed, nosing at Alexander's hairline and letting out a noise that sounded almost like a whimper, and Alex felt a surge of protectiveness for him, "Look at what you have done to me, my dear Hamilton." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

The blond grinned in a self-deprecating sort of way, "I am so weak for you, my love. I used to be a tough soldier, you know, and now look at me. I feel utterly _domestic_ right now and I blame you for this entirely." 

Alexander looked down at the man's arms, which were wrapped around his midsection, and smirked a little, leaning back into his embrace with a comfortable sigh, "Wait until Mulligan and Lafayette find out that you managed to rope me into a cuddle session before they ever did. They'll be quite put out that you were able to seduce me so thoroughly, Mr. Laurens." 

"I seduced _you?_ Need I remind you that YOU are the one on top of ME at the moment?" He was teasing him now. 

Hamilton giggled at him - _giggled!_ \- and replied mischievously, "Mm, indeed I am. But one day soon I would like to be IN you." Not today because it was late and he was quite sore, but eventually...

The older man sucked in a shocked breath, and then groaned, "God, Alexander, you _need_ to stop saying things like that." 

"Or what, you'll _punish_ me?" He asked innocently. 

John shoved him off his lap, gently, but he was laughing and no longer languishing over what was simply an accidental injury, one that would resolve itself in a few hours if not a day or two, so he would consider that a mission accomplished. "Go to sleep, you absolute nuisance, or you'll be exhausted tomorrow and miss breakfast." He kissed his cheek, prompting a deliriously happy sigh from the younger man.

Oh, Alexander was most definitely smitten with this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad French - English Translation (courtesy of Google Translate): 
> 
> Mon Alexandre, tu es si belle... = My Alexander, you are so beautiful...  
> Le mon chéri = My darling  
> Se détendre, laissez moi dans = Relax, let me in  
> "Amour, détends ton corps s'il te plait. Je vais m'arrêter, laissez-moi prendre sortir. Je ne veux pas te faire de mal." = Love, relax your body please. I'm going to stop, let me take it out. I do not want to hurt you.  
> Baise-moi plus fort = Fuck me harder (You probably didn’t need to be told what he was saying here but I’m telling you anyways)
> 
> If you're wondering why Alexander didn't notice that Tabitha was pregnant earlier, when she hugged him, it's because back then being a bit overweight was considered a good thing, it meant you were wealthy and could afford to eat well, and the layering of clothes meant he couldn’t tell what kind of weight it was. He just brushed it off as her having gained a few pounds until he saw her clothing in the light (women wore special dresses back then recognizable as being for pregnancy; look it up, Eliza’s actress wears one during “That Would Be Enough” in the musical; I can’t imagine a death-squeezing corset was good for fetal development after all!)
> 
> I wonder if there's a record somewhere out there for number of gay clichés used at once; if so I bet I could beat it with enough effort.
> 
> Anyways, please let me know what you guys think! Is Washington being too overprotective of Hamilton now? Did Alexander handle John’s concerns at the end properly? Is it a bad idea for these two losers to keep sneaking around like this? 
> 
> I love hearing from all of you!


	10. Être Aimé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For you, my dear Laurens, I would walk on burning coals or take a bullet through the heart." He whispered, and somehow, ridiculous as it was, these unlikely to happen promises were still easier for him to say, and truly mean without a second thought, than to tell John that he loved him. He did. There was no question about it, he loved him so much he could barely stand it. But, as easily as words usually came to him, in this particular instance... he felt that something was holding him back. Perhaps one day he would finally be able to speak those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has scenes including descriptions of childbirth and eventual graphic sexual content (with mild BDSM dynamics), just so you know!

_December, 1777_

Alexander was having a good morning.

For starters, he had apparently not stirred or awoken from any sort of nightmare last night, and he could feel it right down to his bones, a well rested ease that came with sleeping the whole night through, but that was only one of the items on his list he had to thank for his pleasant attitude. Another was that they had received a confirmation that a close friend of Nicholas' would be able to help discreetly transport out of the city the supplies that the Montebellums' and a handful of their close Patriot supporting friends were purchasing on behalf of the Continental Army, supplying them with things the Congress either could not or would not.

Within the next few days, his brothers (and their families) would be receiving a staggering supply of 10,000 blankets, hundreds of pairs of shoes, and sewing materials, several crates of essential medicines (cinchona bark, opium, herbs, bandages, surgical tools and first aid supplies), as well as salted meats, flour, sugar and sterilizing alcohol. Nico and Tabby had always been generous, but he hadn't expected them to go _this far_ to help them. He was thrilled, quickly penning a message for the General to send on his way back; everything had gone so well they might even begin their return home to the camp as early as that evening. 

On top of the success of this mission, Alexander found himself unable to stop smiling throughout brunch with Tabitha earlier that day, he kept stealing glances at John when she wasn't looking. Now that he was alone, he had time to reflect on last night, not just the act itself but the words...

John had told him he loved him. 

Not only that, but he had done so in the sweetest way possible, and Hamilton wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he had been touched to the point of tears by it. He'd known the blond cared for him of course, the fact that he could put up with him for more than a polite period of time over this last year was proof enough of that. But he had said _love_. It should have been terrifying to him, and a part of it certainly was, but he was also filled with euphoria. In addition to that proclamation that he would keep dear in his heart, he now had the assurance of Tabitha that the Army would be receiving the supplies it so desperately needed. It hadn't ended in failure, soon this winter would be looking up for them!

So yes, he spent that morning with a sense of joy and peace he hadn't felt in years, if ever.

He heard a knock on the door, which was promptly pushed open before he could answer it, and then the blond was standing there with the same relaxed, easy-going air about him he had been carrying all morning, which was probably for the same reasons as Alexander's. "Lieutenant Colonel Laurens," he said with a slight grin on his lips, "Is everything alright?"

"Actually, I'm just letting you know that we'll probably need to bump up our departure to within an hour or so, it looks like a storm is moving in and the last thing that we want is to wind up trapped in the city by a blizzard." He told him.

The younger man nodded; while he had been hoping to spend more time with Tabitha, concerned for her well being while she was locked up in here without the company of her husband, he knew it would be smart to avoid a snowstorm; Washington was expecting them to leave tomorrow anyways, arriving back slightly early would not necessarily be a bad thing. "Yes, I suppose we've spent a short enough time in Philadelphia not to arouse suspicion from the enemy, it would be best to keep it that w—"

All of a sudden the sound of shattering glass and a pained cry cut through the halls of the manor. 

Recognizing the sound of Tabitha yelling, Alexander took one glance at John and drew his pistol, running from his room to her own, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he twisted the handle of the door and threw it open, bracing himself for the worst. Instead of an intruder, he found the brunette lady clutching her Queen Anne-style walnut dressing table, nearly doubled over and clutching her stomach while moaning in pain, the broken remnants of a crystal bowl scattered about her feet. 

"Tabby!" He hurried forward, putting away his piece and moving to her with hands outstretched, about to ask what the problem was, when he stepped in... _something_. Looking down at the floor, he realized the clear, watery fluid he had accidentally happened upon was pooling from under her skirts and... _oh, God_. "Tabitha? Is that... are you—"

She opened her bright eyes and looked at him with barely concealed panic, "The baby... he's coming..."

Not good, _not good_. 

There was no doctor here, and Nicholas wasn't here either, only a very small number of servants, none of them whom were trained as a midwife in any capacity, she had been planning to discreetly send for one sometime tomorrow. He knew this because he had commented on the emptiness of the home last night at dinner and the woman had told him she had specifically instructed many of her staff to return to their families and stay safe when the British began their invasion. She was the type of woman who would put her employees peace of mind over her own comfort, except this time it had backfired.

John, who had been hot on his heels, burst in just as Alexander finished processing the situation, "Is she in labor?!" he seemed to catch up even more quickly than the redhead had. 

"It would appear so!"

The blond moved to her side and slipped his arms around the woman to help her sit, “Ma’am, when did you begin experiencing contraction pains?” 

She shook her head in response, “I had felt no pain until just moments ago! There was some light movements in my body throughout the night, but I assumed that was the child being active. I never sent for a midwife, oh God!”

“Easy. Deep breaths, don’t panic." John assured her before looking at him, "It’s going to be fine. Alexander, help me get her out of this.” He gestured to the woman’s dress fastenings and the young man swallowed before darting forward to do as instructed, allowing Tabby to breath more easily once the restrictive outer gown was removed, followed by her layers of petticoats, leaving her in just her shift dress and stockings; normally an improper way for a woman to be seen in front of two men who weren't her husband or a family member, but she needed them, and quite honestly he had never seen her as anything other than a kind almost maternal figure in his life.

Once they helped her so she could lay down in a more comfortable position on her bed, Hamilton turned to his friend for instructions on what to do next. He had never helped guide anyone through giving birth, but he knew John had been present for at least a handful of his siblings' births, which was more than what Alex could say. How could they help her? Aside from running outside and risking getting caught by Redcoats or alerting them to Tabitha's presence in the city by searching for a doctor.

Laurens hesitated, “Those medical books belonging to your adoptive brother, did any of them include information regarding laboring women?”

“I... some did, yes. Why? What are you—“ He stopped short when he realized what the other male was suggesting, a strange mix of horror, concern and disbelief rushing through him. “You don't mean... John, I can’t— _we can’t!_ We have no training!”

“You studied medicine for some time in college before deciding on law, didn't you?” 

Alexander shook his head, “I studied as a physician! My classes didn’t cover this! Male midwifery is only just _now_ beginning to be explored here, Laurens, they hadn’t written it into the curriculum when I was there!”

The older man grabbed his wrist, “Alexander, we can’t leave her to do this alone.”

He looked at the groaning, teary-eyed woman who had housed him for several months when he was younger, who had teased him and coaxed him from his shell as much as Hercules had, and swallowed his discomfort, nodding. “Okay.” 

* * *

After scouring the manor and enlisting the help of a frazzled maid, the two men got to work on finding everything they would need. 

Blankets, a basin of warm water, towels, sterilizing alcohol, and though it was often discouraged by physicians, Alexander found some crushed opium in a medical supply kit downstairs and took that, too. Childbirth could be extremely dangerous for both mother and infant, not to mention painful - if the situation turned bad and the child did not survive... he was not about to watch his dear friend scream in pain while having to expel her dead baby, he would sedate her first and spare her that particular suffering; he remembered the sorrow in his own mother's eyes as she discussed the two (traumatic) stillbirths she had endured, one before he was born and one he was still too young of an age to recall. 

"Thank you for staying, for helping me." Tabitha spoke between a a breathy moan of pain, and she squeezed John's hand while instructing Hamilton to check and see how dilated she was. 

"Of course, no one should be alone for this."

Already feeling decidedly less squeamish about it upon realizing Tabby had no one else who could help her. It wasn't the most conventional situation, but he supposed he could ignore his social sensibilities this once; as John said, they certainly weren't about to leave her to deal with this _alone_. Alexander pushed his sleeves up his forearm and rolled up her shift to take a look.

He gasped.

"What, what is it?!" 

The young man lifted his head up, "Tabitha, how long have you been in pain for?"

She looked confused, "I told you already, a few minutes, perhaps a half of an hour at most. Why? Is everything okay?" 

"No! You're not... those weren't _contractions_ you were experiencing, Tabby. You're already fully dilated!" He exclaimed and Laurens looked at him with disbelief. "I just... you must have been in labor for _hours_ without realizing it! How is this even possible?" None of them had any idea, all they knew was that baby was coming within the next couple of hours, if not minutes. John told him to write to Nicholas and tell him, so he could get back home to Philadelphia as soon as possible. 

He took care of it, and by early afternoon he heard them yelling for him. 

"What's wrong? Is the baby's head crowning?!" Alexander asked hurried as he ran into the room, and despite his calm and collected state before, John looked on the brink of panic now. 

"I think so! I left for five minutes to bring her some water and by the time I got back—" He gestured helplessly at her; one of her hands was locked around his like a vice, but Tabitha had both of her legs up and was prepared for the birthing position. 

Alexander soaked his hands in the alcohol to make sure they were sterile, and then climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs, "Jesus Christ. Okay, forget our estimate of a few hours, this baby is coming _now_." It wasn't just crowning, it was damn well near halfway out! "Tabitha, my friend, this baby won't wait any longer for Nicholas, I'm sorry. I need you to get ready to push, just—that's right, just like that Tabby." She hadn't even waited for him to finish his instructions before releasing John's hand, the woman just bent her knees, grabbed the backs of her own thighs and began to push, taking quick rhythmic breaths, a look of determination in her eyes.

He supposed after two daughters she would know fairly well what to do at this point.

"You're doing so well. That's it, almost there. Okay, stop, taking a deep breath." He told her as he instructed John to get behind her and lift her upper body into the air more so her she was in a reclined position, taking the pressure off of her stomach and vaginal walls. He couldn't remember where, but someone had once told him that labor was more difficult for the mother when her legs were raised up higher than the rest of her body. It was a position that made it easier for the physician during delivery, not the mother, but he was prepared to catch the baby, so whatever felt most natural to her would be best. "Okay, keep going Tabby. You can do it, one more big push for the shoulders, okay?"

 _"Aaaaagggghhh!"_ She let out a long, half-scream, half-cry and gave birth to her third child, who let out a piercing wail that reverberated through the house. 

Hamilton checked the screaming infant over, gently wiping the blood and other bodily fluids off, and wrapped the child up in a warm blanket while Laurens laid her back down against the bed and helped her deliver the placenta.

Once her breathing had evened out, he took a seat beside the sweaty, exhausted woman. "Congratulations, Mrs Montebellum, you have a son." he said softly as she pushed herself up into a sitting position and took the baby from him, covering her mouth with a tearful smile. Immediately afterwards, she pulled down the top of her gown in order to begin nursing her child. Ironically, he was more uncomfortable with viewing _that_ than he had been with everything else up until that point. Not because he had an issue with breasts, but because labour was something a woman was _expected_ to need help with, for the safety of herself and her baby. Breastfeeding, however, was meant to be a time of bonding between the two, he didn’t think anyone else should be present for something so important.

"Thank you, Alexander, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens... thank you so much..." she smiled tiredly, a few tears of relief escaping the corners of her eyes.

"Please, ma'am, call me John." 

"Only if you start addressing me Tabitha." The woman told him, leaning back against her headboard and rocking the boy back and forth quietly, "My baby boy... my little A.J., I wasn't expecting so much excitement in your arrival, Mister." She cooed at her son, pressing a kiss to the top of his tiny, wrinkled head. "So this cold December gave you birth, our blessed month of snow, and ice, and mirth..." she murmured.

Although they should have left by now, the storm had already begun, and it had come in violently enough that horseback travel would be impossible at the moment, so they simply began cleaning up the room. He saw his lover cast a curious glance at her, "A.J.?" he asked. 

Tabitha shot them both a beaming smile, "Short for Alexander John, of course." 

"Wait, what?" He dropped the soiled blankets he had been gathering to dispose of and looked at her.

Laurens appeared to be equally stunned, "You're naming him after us? But, your husband, surely you want to name your first born son after his father...?" 

"I think Nicholas will more than agree with my choice once he hears that you stayed behind all day in order to help me through this. Besides, our little Colette is already named after him, it would be too similar. No, I think Isabella, Nicolette and Alexander John are the perfect names for our little children." She yawned, blinking tiredly.

The next few hours flew by in a blur and, despite knowing they'd done all they could, they wound up spending most of that day in Tabby's room, eating and playing a couple of card games, speaking in hushed voices so as not to wake the child. At one point, a maid brought in the two young girls, now six and three years of age, once their daily lessons had concluded later that afternoon, so they could meet their baby brother. Both girls had cuddled up to their mother so they could peer down at the boy. 

The four of them made an adorable picture.

Alexander didn't know how to describe what he was feeling. Touched by her choice to name her first son after them, and perhaps a bit envious of the beautiful family they had together. He wasn't ready to be a father yet, but he had to admit he would like to still have been a part of a family one day, when this war was behind them. Especially around this time of the year; another Christmas spent alone didn't particularly appeal to him, but thankfully he had his brothers-in-arms to keep him company.

Once things had calmed down a little, the children were ushered out so their mother could rest and he went to track down Colette’s old cradle so "A.J." would have somewhere to sleep in his mother's room. 

When he got back with it, his arms aching a little from the effort of carrying it upstairs, he found her fast asleep and John.... 

He was standing by the window with baby A.J. tucked into the crook of his arm, rocking him and making gentle hushing noises that sounded just repetitive enough to be some sort of lullaby; in fact, he was almost certain that John had hummed that same tune to _him_ on more than one occasion. Moonlight streamed through the curtains and cast a luminescent glow against his skin and hair. His eyes were soft with affection, and the scene was one of utter domesticity, and looked almost too natural for the other man. The sight made his stomach flutter, and he was strangely enchanted by the image of his lover caring for the infant.

"You are a natural at that, you know," he whispered as he entered the room, carefully setting the cradle down by Tabitha's bed. "You will make an incredible father one day, there's not a doubt in my mind." It was meant to be a compliment, but for some reason when John smiled at him in response, it didn't quite reach his eyes. He could only assume the man was tired after all the excitement that day. "Come, you need to rest, we both do." 

He nodded in agreement and carefully laid the baby boy down in the cradle, gently running his thumb down over the child's cheek before turning to follow him out of the room. "Voulez-vous passer la nuit dans ma chambre encore ce soir? Je pense que personne ne le remarquera." Alexander told him as they walked together down the empty, lantern-lit hallway, keeping his tone casual.

John smiled at him again, this time more genuinely, "Bien sûr. Je veux passer autant de temps _comme ça—_ " he replied, reaching out to take his hand and intertwine their fingers as they made it back to Alexander's quarters. "—Avec toi comme je peut-être peux." 

* * *

That night, Alexander had fallen into the bed in an exhausted sleep, barely even remembering when he'd closed his eyes.

For once, the howling sound of the wind outside that had rattled the windows didn't bother him, at least not while he was curled up against his fellow officer.

He had anticipated sleeping soundly through the night the same way he had before, and that hopefully by the time they woke up the storm would be over and they would be able to make their return back to camp, before their three days were up. Even if they were a bit late though, he imagined that the General would understand when he learned of what had kept them; even without the baby factoring in, their Commander knew perfectly well that some conditions were unsuitable for travelling by horse, with no way to get around it. At the very least, their good news about the help on its way should please him.

However, very early into the next morning he was awoken by something else other than the sun's morning rays, in fact the moon still high in the sky. 

Blinking in the darkness, Hamilton felt something was _off_ , and rolled over in the bed, finding the other side empty and rapidly growing cool. The twenty-year-old's eyes were drawn to the faint flicker of a dying candle on one of the bedside tables, and to his confusion, he found Laurens sitting on the floor next to the bed, fully dressed. His head was bowed low, and his breathing sounded strange. "John?"

The young man quickly stood up, his coat tucked beneath one of his arms, and discreetly pressed his handkerchief back into his pocket as he turned around. 

Alexander still understood what was happening almost immediately, however, "Are you... crying?" he asked, sitting up and reaching a hand towards the blond, confusion melting away into a deep concern for the other. 

"...No." John was a good liar when he was collected, but when he was at a heightened state of emotion, those emotions were clearly displayed across every inch of him. He could tell not just by his voice but by the hunch in his shoulders, his refusal to look at his face, and the distance he kept between them. Laurens was not someone who showed his pain easily. He didn't like others to see him upset.

Fingers curling around his wrist, Hamilton tugged him closer, "Oh? If that's the case, let me see your eyes, then." he ordered, doing his best to keep his voice soft. 

"Alexander, stop. It's fine. I just... had a bad dream and needed a moment. I—" The older man's voice hitched, and he swallowed, ducking his head and making a visible effort to control his breathing. _Stubborn bastard_. John didn't resist when the redhead pulled him down into his lap and held him tightly for a moment, rubbing a hand up and down his back in an effort to soothe his quiet, shaky breaths. 

Several moments of silence passed them, and Alexander finally asked, "Do you want to tell me about it? It might make you feel better..." His lover didn't move from where his head was now resting on Hamilton's shoulder, but he could feel him shake his head in reply. "Okay... we don't have to talk, that's all right. What else can I do to help?" 

"Nothing... there's nothing you or anyone else can do about these nightmares." 

The blond's tone made his heart ache; John just sounded so _sad_ , so matter-of-fact, like he was already resigned to just having nightmares.

He wondered why; they both had nightmares, but Hamilton refused to believe he had to just learn to live with them for the rest of his life, he was always looking into new methods to improve his admittedly terrible sleep habits.

Alexander laid his chin on the older man's shoulder and held him tighter, knowing that physical contact usually helped him when he was similarly upset.

"There must be something worthy of an attempt..." He lifted his head against, worried eyes meeting the blond's tired ones before he cupped the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together in an affectionate way. "Please tell me what I can do. I hate seeing you like this... _hurting..._ Let me at least _try_ , I don't wish to see you suffer, my friend..." he murmured, and they sat silently intertwined in the darkness for a few painful minutes.

"I... could you distract me? I don't know how to stop thinking about it. Maybe... never mind..." he trailed off, looking away, guilt and sorrow churning in his stomach; John knew he didn't deserve to be helped.

Hamilton knew him well enough to understand what he had intended to ask, and also why he felt either shy or apprehensive of asking for that kind of favor, though the younger of the two would hardly consider it a _sacrifice_ on his part to participate in such an activity. 

"For you, my dear Laurens, I would walk on burning coals or take a bullet through the heart." He whispered, and somehow, ridiculous as it was, these unlikely to happen promises were still easier for him to say, and truly mean without a second thought, than to tell John that he loved him. He did. There was no question about it, he loved him _so much_ he could barely stand it. But, as easily as words usually came to him, in this particular instance... he felt that something was holding him back. Perhaps one day he would finally be able to speak those words.

They both pulled back, looking at one another in the feeble candlelight, his lover's eyes were more green than blue at the moment, and the immigrant was briefly reminded of the waters around St. Croix, churning seafoam atop a brilliant turquoise sea. It had always looked so breathtaking, more so than ever on the day he had left for good, and it had been a source of tranquility for him even when that island had brought him nothing but sorrow. A reminder that greater things, and greater beauty, awaited beyond the shores of the Danish town of Christiansted.

Alexander cupped John's cheeks in both of his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that were falling quietly from his eyes. He touched their foreheads together for a moment, listening to him take a deep breath before tilting his head down and covering the older man's lips with his own.

He heard John inhale through his nose and slowly begin to relax, taking comfort in the solid warmth of Hamilton's body against his own.

The kiss gradually deepened, and he lifted his hands to rest on the younger's shoulders as Alex wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, slowly undoing his cravat and stroking his fingertips from the quickening pulse beneath his jaw to the base of his throat, feeling him shiver in response. He smiled a little and reached behind John then, to tug the bow out of the silk black ribbon in his hair and throw it aside, fingers running through the honey-colored locks, letting it fall down to frame his face in soft half-curls. 

As they broke the kiss, he allowed his mouth to wander down the curve of Laurens' jaw as he undid his waistcoat and pushed it off his shoulders, garnering a few breathy sighs from the Southerner as his teeth lightly scraped across the patch of skin just under his right ear. Without warning, Alexander pushed him to lay down, to the other's confusion, "Ham—"

"John, shh..." Alexander breathed, offering him a reassuring smile when those blue-green eyes gave him a startled look. "I'm going to take care of you now, I promise. Just take it easy and focus on your breathing for me, okay?" He brushed his thumb over John's bottom lip, watching his lashes flutter shut again as he relaxed beneath him. He smiled. Bending forward, Hamilton sealed his mouth in another kiss, this one deeper and longer, untucking John's shirt from his breeches before sliding off the bed, and pushing the older male back down when he attempted to sit up to assist him in his undressing.

Although he did not protest, Laurens was certainly confused. 

Lifting John's leg slightly off the bed, he unbuckled and removed his boot before repeating the same action with the other one, then slowly unbuttoned the cuffs of his breeches so he could roll his stockings down his calves and off his feet. He heard a soft noise when one of his hands lightly brushed over the back of his knee. Curious about the sound, he brushed his fingers over the spot again, this time intentionally, causing the blond to flinch and try to move out of reach, his lips twitching. "Is someone ticklish?" he asked softly, a little smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.

John's face flushed red at having his secret found out, "S-Shut up..."

The grin on Alexander's face only widened, and then he was on top of the blond, capturing his face with both hands and bending forward to kiss him hungrily.

He moaned as that sharp-witted tongue invaded his mouth without hesitance and tried to touch the other male, only for Hamilton to gently bat his hands away, and John dropped his arms to the bed in defeat, allowing himself to simply surrender to the passion. Eventually he broke apart from his mouth, tilting John's head back to bare his throat and suddenly latching onto his neck, drawing a surprised gasp from the Carolinian as he sucked at his pulse point; _that_ was going to be tricky to cover up, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset. He gave a surprised cry when Alexander bit down on his collar bone abruptly, laving his tongue over the spot to soothe it afterwards.

John whimpered when the younger male pushed a leg up between his thighs, feeling Hamilton’s knee pressing against his crotch through the rough linen of his breeches. "Alex..." he spoke breathlessly, his face hot as he moved his hips, subtly trying to get more friction without drawing attention to it. 

_"Shhh..."_

Hamilton covered John's face and neck with soft, gentle brushes of his lips, kissing his ears, his jaw, feathering under each of his eyes and down to his lips again, both hands roaming over the Southerner's body, which was quickly growing heated with desire. Only the redhead could make him feel so _dizzy_ with want, and so quickly too; no one else had ever had this effect on Laurens.

It wasn't long before the former Captain drew back and began tugging his lover's breeches down off of his hips, leaving him in nothing but the long shirt he normally slept in, which ended at the knee but was currently bunched up around his muscular thighs. He saw Alexander lick his lips and averted his gaze with a pleased but bashful little smile. There was something strangely intimate about being hushed like a young child and slowly stripped of his clothing while he was expected to simply lay there. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. If anyone else had attempted such an act he would have been furious and humiliated, but this was _Alexander_.

Ordinarily, when they were together like this, they helped each other remove their clothing, it was just quicker that way and meant they didn't have to separate as much in order to disrobe themselves. Right now, however, he wasn't even _touching_ Hamilton at the moment, so it all felt very one sided. 

Not _bad_ , necessarily, but certainly unusual for them.

"John..." the other man whispered, and he swallowed at the way those dark violet eyes were roaming over him, the look in them making it clear he was imagining all the no doubt highly improper things he wanted them to do. He wouldn't object; despite his greater experience, the younger seemed to have less qualms about trying new things than even he did, and John had yet to actually dislike anything they'd tried thus far.

Alexander's hands slid along the insides of his arms, guiding him to lift them above his head, and he did so without question, naturally assuming that the auburn-haired man wanted to remove his shirt as well. He _did_ , but immediately after removing the last article of clothing, the younger male positioned his hands so that one wrist laid across the other, humming in thought and Laurens shot him a inquisitive look. 

A small smile present on his lips, his lover lifted his hand up to show him what looked like some sort of coil of braided rope. Wait... where did he even get _that?_

His eyebrows drew together, looking between it and Alexander, perplexed, before his eyes widened, mouth opening slightly in surprise.

"Wha—" 

_Alexander wanted to tie him up._

"I have a theory. Do you trust me?" Alexander asked him, and he didn't verbally respond, because _of course_ he did. He trusted him more than anyone else he had ever met, and that included General Washington. But they had never tried anything like this before. His heart was all at once pounding against his rib-cage. "I just wish to try something a little different. I promise, I'll stop if you don't like it, you have my word. Just tell me to remove them and I will." Mouth dry and unable to think of any objection, John gave a slight nod and was rewarded with a brilliant grin. He helped him sit up, and moved behind Laurens, guiding his arms to cross behind his back.

The blond did not argue, barely even considered it actually.

He hadn't expected this at all... but he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about what Hamilton had in mind.

John could hear and feel movement behind him, but he didn't know what was happening. He jumped a little when Alex's hands were suddenly on his arms, positioning them behind himself so that each of his hands were pointed towards the crook of the opposite arms' elbow.

The coarse texture of the rope against his skin made his breath catch, but he relaxed when the other kissed his shoulder lovingly; the rope was wrapped around his wrists and tied, the black material standing out in a stark contrast with his complexion. Alexander slipped a finger underneath the rope afterwards, testing to make certain that it wasn't so tight as to cut off his circulation. It wasn't.

During this time, Laurens couldn't help but close his eyes as he tried to remain sitting straight instead of leaning back into the warmth of Hamilton's body, feeling strangely calm about the fact he was actively being restrained. His mind zoomed in on the sensation of rope, the excited yet nervous thrumming of his own heartbeat. When this was done he would most likely be immobile, a thought that should have been frightening, and indeed would have been if this were any other situation. But knowing it was Alexander currently tying him up, who would be in control of the situation, was _appealing_ rather than unnerving. He knew this man not to take advantage of his vulnerability in any way that might hurt him. He trusted Alex, and the other man trusted him...

_**He** trusted you too, to take care of him, and you let him die. _

The thought that entered his mind was an unwelcome reminder of the dream he had, and John felt tears return to his eyes as he remembered little Jemmy, tiny and lifeless as they prepared to lower him into the ground. Swallowing the lump that was suddenly in his throat, he focused on the feeling of the rope against his skin and, surprisingly, it worked, centering his thoughts as he took a deep breath, letting it act as an anchor, keeping his thoughts on the present and not stuck in the past.

When his wrists were finally tied, Alexander began winding the rope around his forearms, tying each end just above his elbow before looping them around his shoulders so they crossed in an 'X' shape over his chest, and ended back down at his hands, where they were tied in another, final knot. The result was a snug harness that kept his arms securely behind his back.

"There..." His lover whispered behind him. 

Experimentally, John tugged a little at the rope that was firmly fastened around his shoulders, arms and wrists; he couldn't move nearly at all, and his hands didn't budge in their bindings either. For some reason, though he was _perfectly fine_ with that idea just mere moments ago, the realization of his bound state startled him now, and he felt a moment of sharp and uncontrollable _panic_ , twisting against the restraints and giving Alexander a wide-eyed look as his heart began to thunder wildly in his chest, fighting desperately to free his arms.

He was _defenseless_.

Seeing the instinctual fear of being trapped and helpless that was quickly overcoming John, Alexander immediately pulled the young man's body against his own, back-to-chest with his arms wrapping around his torso and lips pressing reassuring kisses against the column of his neck, pausing to whisper in his ear, "It's okay, Jack, shhh... I've got you, you're safe. It's just me... nothing bad's happening, I promise. You're safe here. Don't struggle, _ma plus chér ami_. Let go."

The protective embrace and gentle voice had the intended effect; John inhaled slowly, and stopped fighting against the rope, leaning into Hamilton's chest and shivering. He felt extremely _vulnerable_ , but knowing who it was that sat behind him made it less terrifying than it should have been.

The blond realized that he didn't mind if he was at the mercy of this man, who he cared for more than anyone else with the exception of his siblings. 

"Are you cold?" Alexander asked quietly, sitting back against the bedroom wall with his legs stretched out on either side of John's. He shook his head; on the contrary, he felt almost _too warm_ now, the tapering adrenaline that had welled up within heating him up, he barely noticed the evening chill.

He ran his fingers through the older man's soft golden hair, thinking back to the night before, when John had pinned him to the bed so he'd stop biting his fingers to muffle his sounds, and he _couldn't move_. It might have been petrifying, being in that position, if it were anyone else pinning him... but instead he'd been filled with... so much desire and trust and such a sense of _security..._ for the first time in months, or perhaps years, he could feel that ever present anxiety that was buried deep inside of him ease up, and forget all of the many things that were troubling him. Hamilton wanted the other man to know that feeling too...

"John. My beautiful John..." he crooned quietly.

The man flushed, a pleasant sensation settling in the center of his chest.

 _Beautiful._ Hamilton called him that so frequently he may as well have had the words branded on him for the world to see.

Warm hands ran over the restrained male’s body from behind as Alexander attacked that pale neck with his mouth once more, prompting him to sigh and tilt his head to the side, allowing better access. An index finger ghosted across his left nipple and John shuddered at the touch, a quiet chuckle leaving Alexander as he dropped his hand to the blond's thigh, causing him to twitch, his body _aching_ to be touched. “I forgot how ridiculously sensitive you are here..." he murmured silkily.

The tone of voice he used told Laurens that he had absolutely _not_ forgotten that.

He heard the red-haired male give a thoughtful hum, and John only had time to recognize the mischief in it before Hamilton's fingers returned to his chest, and his lover began rubbing gently at his nipple before he squeezed the little nub, rolling it between his fingers until the flesh hardened under the touch, and Laurens moaned in surprise and lust, opening his mouth to tell the other to stop messing around with him, only for the words to dissolve into a whimper as Alexander’s free hand slid up to copy his actions on the other one, massaging both of his nipples simultaneously, gradually building up the pressure, twisting gently before giving them each a sharp tug, relishing in the sounds the blond male was letting out.

"Tu ressembler le physique mode de réalisation de tentation, mon très cher Laurens..." Hamilton whispered over his shoulder, and the blond gasped as he leaned forward and blew a cold breath of air across his chest, causing him to shiver in delight. 

John squirmed and arched his chest into his touch with a quavery groan, pleasure shooting down into his cock as Alexander toyed with his body, teasingly tracing along the outside of his sensitive buds with the very tips of his fingers, nearly tickling them before he pinched both and tugged, drawing a choked cry from him. He flattened his hands against the blond's flushed chest and slowly dragged the palms of his calloused hands across his nipples, the sensation broader and less sharp but still intentionally and cruelly teasing him.

”Alexander, please!” He begged for more, unable to do anything else as he panted in pleasure.

There was now a _persistent_ throbbing between his legs, _heat_ was coiling low in the pit of his belly and he gulped down a lungful of air as the young man's hands glided down over his chest and abdominal muscles, feeling them flex under his palms.

When one of them wrapped around his swollen cock and _squeezed_ , John made a strangled sort of noise and dropped his head back against Alexander's shoulder as the redhead began to massage and stroke him, teasing the tip and tapping his fingers gracefully along the thick vein that ran along the bottom of the shaft, as though he were playing the piano. He tried to arch into the touch but Hamilton abruptly grabbed the rope crossing behind his shoulder and _pulled_ it roughly. He gasped as the restraints dug into his skin _tightly_ , the sudden sharp mix of pain and pleasure making his head spin.

 _Oh, God, that hurts!_ John thought, but his cock pulsated in response to the pain, pearly fluid steadily leaking from the tip, and Alexander's hand growing slick from it as he continuously fondled and caressed the flushed organ, delighting in the weak moans leaving the bound young man. "Hamilton..." He breathed, and yelped when the young man _smacked_ the inside of his right thigh, extremely close to his genitals, and he cried out as a hot pleasure-pain trickled down between his legs in response to the stinging reprimand, his cock twitching and leaking more pre-ejaculate.

"I _told you_ before not to call me that when we're like this, John. If you keep misbehaving I'm going to have to start punishing you." The man warned in a voice that all but dared him to disobey, cupping his sac in the palm of his hand and gently massaging it as John whimpered pathetically. "You need to relax and be good for me, Laurens..." the former Captain whispered, before finally loosening his grip on the rope, and he was panting, leaning back against the other's chest. "Understand?" 

"Y-Yes, Alexander," he choked out in an uneven whisper, a frustrated sound leaving him when those delightful hands grabbed him by the hips and unexpectedly rolled them over. For a moment the room spun and then John found himself laying on his back with the other male hovering over him, straddling his legs.

How did he _do that_ so quickly?

The devilish looking smile on Hamilton's face made his breath hitch, and fingers suddenly danced up along his bare sides. John's eyes widened and he started writhing immediately, a giggle already bubbling in his chest as he tried to escape with no success, his lover's fingers gently digging into his ribs. "N-No, no, don't!" he squeaked and laughed involuntarily, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. The request was ignored as Alexander's hands crept up his stomach, and more laughter was forced out of the blond as the pads of his fingers dragged over the most sensitive areas of his body, eventually attacking his neck even as he kicked and struggled.

"Alex, enough, please!" he gasped, breathless, with tears in his eyes, his stomach beginning to ache and his arms twisting beneath him uselessly, he was about ready to beg for mercy when the other man finally gave him a reprieve. 

Alexander laughed at him and he glowered, "You _sneaky_ son of a—" 

Whatever he was about to say was lost when he felt Hamilton's hand was on him again, and he swallowed back a panting groan as the man curled a loose hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, twisting his wrist as his piercing violet eyes gazed down at the older man, with that self-satisfied look on his face that was as _infuriatingly attractive_ as ever, and it didn't take long at all before his breaths were coming in quick gasps once more, and he was squirming, lifting his hips into the touch, his hands balling into fists underneath him, unable to do anything but lay there and take the teasing.

His thighs trembled, he was so worked up. "Alex... _please..._ " 

The redhead's mouth quirked up into a grin, _"Qu'est-ce que ç'est, mon plus cher?"_ He asked, watching as the older man blushed deeply upon registering what was being said. "De quoi avez-vous besoin?" his voice was a sultry and coy purr, and John got the distinct feeling that the questions were at least in part revenge for him making Alexander tell him what he wanted the evening before. "Tu veux ma bouche? Je peux prendre ta beau bite dans ma bouche et te sucer?' he leaned down and brushed his tongue teasingly over the tip of his erection, tasting the opaque fluid that was beading there without ever breaking eye-contact with the older man.

A needy whimper slipped passed John's lips and he squeezed his eyes shut, his legs spreading a little as Hamilton mouthed at the head of his cock. "Non, non. _Je te veux en à l'intérieur de moi_." He begged, twisting within the restraints as he wrestled with how much he needed the other man, and how he was _completely_ at his mercy, a realization that left him feeling hot from the inside out.

 _Desperate_.

He heard a sharp inhale that made him open his eyes again, suddenly concerned that he had asked for too much, too soon. They had only just gone through with the full act itself last night, and he had no idea if Hamilton was ready to take another big step so soon with him, or if he was even _interested_ in performing as the active partner, just because he took charge occasionally, and sometimes teased him about what they _might_ do in the future didn't necessarily mean he actually wanted to try that and—

Before he could work himself up into a frenzy, worrying about what Alexander was thinking, he felt a hand on his face and his gaze snapped up to meet the other's eyes, shocked by how dark they were, the deep blue-amethyst irises were nearly black, an almost ravenous hunger in his expression.

"John," he said lowly, sounding breathless, "Are you sure?" 

He nearly shuddered at the deepness of Alexander’s voice, which had gone from playful and commanding to husky with want.

"Only if you are." Laurens would have taken whatever the other wanted to give him at this point. But he also didn't want to risk taking Alex again so soon after last night, he needed time to heal; and restrained as he was he would have little ability to keep him at a reasonable pace; the other's impatience last night could have hurt him worse if he hadn't stopped him from moving too quickly. Virgins, after all, often had little idea of what to expect and eagerness could easily lead to a serious injury.

Plus, after the numerous allusions the male had made over the last few months that all but promised he would eventually be fucking him, and he couldn't deny how _badly_ he wanted to try it.

Alexander searched his face for a long moment, and then he smiled in that light-up-the-room sort of way that always made him feel like he had butterflies in his chest. Thankfully, the bottle of oil was still tucked inside the bedside table’s drawer; he fumbled to get it, nerves of an all new sort making him a bit jittery, but the young man took a deep breath to calm himself. He opened it and poured a decent amount into his palm before rubbing his hands together to warm it up.

John closed his eyes when he felt the first touch, and then the redhead was massaging the oil into his hips and thighs, mimicking what he remembered the blond doing last night, although he realized unlike himself, Laurens wasn't nearly as tense as he had been, probably because this wasn’t completely foreign to him as it has been for Alexander. 

The younger man let a slick fingertip run down the weeping tip of his cock, drawing a whimper from the Southerner as he teased the length of his penis, and he resisted the urge to squirm and plead with him to hurry up. His legs quivered slightly as Alexander stroked his balls before dipping down lower, brushing his finger over his entrance, eventually easing the long and slender digit inside.

The older man nearly _whined_ , trying to push himself down on that finger and drive it deeper as Alex rubbed and teased his inner walls with a talented ease.

 _God_ , he had been craving this ever since getting a small taste of what it would be like when Hamilton surprised him months ago by making him orgasm with barely more than his finger unexpectedly and for the first time, then following it up by telling him he had learned his technique from studying his adoptive brother's anatomy books, _honestly_. He was so attractive yet so ridiculous at times it was baffling.

He rubbed and traced the man’s outer rim before working a second finger inside.

John’s lips parted in a soft groan, his cheeks flushed with pleasure, the rosy tinge spreading down his neck and chest, highlighting all of the beautiful little imperfections that Alexander _adored_ , a freckle here and a scar from a childhood mishap there. God, he was just... breathtaking.

”Mmm, does that feel good, Jack?” Alexander purred his nickname as he watched John writhe against the bed, his cock twitching and leaking with his arousal. He gave a strangled moan in reply as the other male bent down and sucked one of his erect nipples into his mouth, lavishing attention on it with his tongue as he shuddered and arched his back into the hot, wet sensation, whining with each playful act of that tantalizing mouth. 

A third finger joined the first two and the blond bit back a needy whimper, spreading his legs wider as Alexander thrusted them deep inside of him, finally releasing a startled cry when he began to twist the slick digits around and pump them in and out of him, dancing against every sensitive spot inside of him without fail and slowly driving him up the wall with desire. "Oh, God... _Alex..._ " 

Looking beneath him at the gorgeous older man sent a shiver down Alexander's spine as his lover trembled against the sheets, sweat clinging to his muscles and his cheeks deep and rosy with exertion. Suddenly, he curled his fingers in a come-hither motion: John's eyes flew open as he nearly bucked off the bed with a shout, and he shoved at his chest and kept him pinned in place against the mattress with his free hand as he rubbed and prodded at that single spot, sometimes using one finger and sometimes all three but never letting up, and then a _fourth_ finger was filling him and it felt incredible, the stretch, but still not enough. He needed _more_. 

He was so _close_.

John could feel an intense pleasure building up from deep inside, hot stabbing pangs that pulsated between his legs and up through his ass into the centre of his body as Hamilton played his body like a well used instrument, using his index and pinky finger to keep him stretched open while the ring and middle finger curled and rubbed and pressed at him, dancing across his prostate in random patterns that made it impossible for him to get used to it, keeping the pleasure _razor sharp_ and bordering on nearly unbearable.

He gritted his teeth, panting harshly as he squirmed under the intense, non-stop stimulation, " _Fuck_ , Alexander... it’s t-too much... I can't... I'm going to... Love, please... _Ahh ahhhh..._ oh _God_ , you're... going to _kill_ me." He choked out, stammering through the warning as the muscles in his thighs grew taut, straining with the effort of holding back as long as he could.

The handsome man above John merely smirked at him in response and then pressed _hard_ against the nerve-rich spot inside of the blond, and didn't let up, rubbing mercilessly and he cried out at the sheer intensity of it all as his orgasm ripped through him without pause, every nerve ending on fire as he thrashed desperately against the bed, nearly shaking in the aftermath, straining in his bonds.

Everything felt like a daze afterwards as Hamilton removed his fingers and kissed him deeply for a long moment, his heart was pounding and he gasped for air against his mouth, and then he heard a murmur in his ear but couldn't force himself to focus enough to understand what was being said. The next thing he knew, there were hands on his hips, dragging him closer and he felt a blunt pressure against his ass, looking up to see Alexander gazing down at him with the most _intense_ expression he'd ever seen, his eyes were smoldering with lust.

He shivered under those deep violet eyes. Was Alexander going to fuck him _now?_

"Alex..." he breathed, and he could see the silent question within the other man's his eyes. If he entered him _now_ , so soon after climax... John swallowed and nodded, _"Je vous en prie, faites-le. Prends moi je suis à toi!"_ he encouraged, overtaken with the sudden visceral need to have Alexander inside of him _immediately_ , so he lifted his legs and locked them around the redhead's waist. 

That was apparently all the urging his fellow soldier needed, because the next thing he knew he was throwing his head back against the pillows with a silent shout as Alexander suddenly pushed into him, feeling his ass stretch around the younger man as he buried himself to the hilt without a pause. He was still recovering from his orgasm so John could feel every throb, every twitch and every pulse of Alex’s cock, his legs trembling around his waist. 

He blinked at the ceiling, swallowing and trying to breathe through the sizzling heat still rushing through him, _“...Ooohhh...”_ he moaned weakly.

The blond blinked up at him and saw the mischief in those beautiful eyes as he rolled his hips and drew a _gasp_ from John, his body still hypersensitive at the moment. 

Gently brushing some hair from John’s face, he felt Alexander kiss his jaw, panting softly, “Jesus, Laurens, you feel fucking incredible.” He rolled his hips experimentally and the blond cried out as the other's firm length brushed against his hot, swollen prostate, his cheeks reddening when he heard the sound that left him. An arm curled around the elder's waist to draw him closer, Alexander's other hand planted against the mattress beside his head as he took up a strong rhythm right from the start, his own face flushed as it hovered mere inches from John's, and they were gazing into each other's eyes and—

"Alexander!" He twisted under him, almost immediately overwhelmed not just by the leftover pleasure reigniting in his body, but by the _connection_ between them, the _intimacy_. Not a single person in his bed had ever had him at _this_ level of raw vulnerability. He'd been taken, but never _dominated_ , not even with Kinloch, and certainly not with Martha. 

”Mine. You’re _mine_ , John Laurens.” Alex rumbled in his ear as his hand moved from his waist to cup the back of his head, fingers knotting in those sunshine-golden locks, and his tongue invading the Southern man’s mouth as he plundered him, the pleasure shooting up his spine and the friction of his cock against Alexander’s stomach was way too much, his lips muffling Laurens’ shout as he was driven over the edge into a _second_ orgasm.

There were tears in his eyes, completely overwhelmed by sensation and emotion. 

For as lost in the carnality of pleasure as he seemed, it didn't take Hamilton more than a moment to notice, and he instantly stopped, much to the other's dismay, a whimper escaping him. "John?" He asked hoarsely, panic lighting behind his eyes and suddenly he was fumbling to get both of his arms behind John, and the older didn't understand at first until he heard him curse, and then all at once the ropes were loosening from around his upper body and his wrists slipped free, feeling the relief from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulder blades.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His hands were on Laurens' face, searching his eyes for any sign the blond was in pain. Alex looked just as scared as John had felt last night and that wouldn't do _at all_. 

"Non, ne t'arrête pas!" 

Alexander gasped in surprise as John abruptly sat up and pushed him down onto the bed so the redhead was laying on his back beneath him. He took a moment to catch his breath before thrusting himself down in one fluid motion, penetrating himself all at once on the other's cock and drawing hoarse cries from them both. The wide-eyed look on the younger male’s face as John planted his hands on his chest and began to rock his hips up and down was immensely satisfying, and he didn't let up for a second, his arms shaking as the blood furiously rushed back into them, needle-like pain dancing through his limbs that barely registered as he threw his head back in ecstasy.

He felt the younger man's hands slid down his back and grab the cheeks of his ass, spreading him wider and aiding him in the movements as he pressed himself further down on his erection, biting his lip in a weak effort to stifle the sounds he was making, so he didn't wake up the entire damn house. The expression on Hamilton's face could only be described as _awe_.

"Tu es tellement putain de belle." He whispered and the blond looked down at him with a hazy expression, his heart swelling at the praise, arching forward as Alexander ran his hands up over his sweat-drenched torso, before dropping down to cover his oversensitive erection again, thumbing his slit and smiling when John trembled in response. "Je n'aurais jamais rêvé trouver le paradis entre les jambes d'un autre homme." He breathed and Laurens could feel himself quickly losing control with every word his best friend said.

Jesus Christ, how was his tongue capable of such eloquent words even _now?_

That was when John fell forward and crushed his lips against the other man's, a series of broken _'ah ah ah'_ noises still escaping him as Hamilton's hand quickened around his manhood, and there was electricity running through him as if he were one of Doctor Franklin's inventions. The white hot tingling sensation that had started out in his balls had spread all throughout his groin and up his spine, it was burning, incredible yet nearly _painful_ and filling every inch of his being with a desperate need, and he was rocking up and down frantically, tears falling down his cheeks as he felt it building to a sharp crescendo.

"Viens pour moi, mon cher John," The redhead gripped his chin with one hand, his eyes alight with passion as he stared into John's. "Se défaire pour moi, mon amour. Laisse moi te voir!"

 _"Alex—"_ His words cut off abruptly with a helpless sob, his body curling up and he clung to the other man as pleasure overwhelmed his senses for a third time and his orgasm ripped through him like a whirlwind, shocking him with the power behind it, even greater than the first time, and he was coming over his own chest and Hamilton's stroking hand, trembling violently as he collapsed onto him, and shuddering as the young man kept going, crying out with every jolt as he was pounded into. 

Then, suddenly the blond jerked and gasped out weakly, shivering as the young man kissed him tenderly, a familiar wet heat filled him as he shuddered through the aftershocks of pleasure. He laid his forehead against Alexander’s shoulder and allowed his eyes to slip shut, panting for air as the other murmured praises in his ear.

Whether he blacked out or dozed off, John was really only half aware of what happened after that. He vaguely remembered the high wave of emotion he was riding, and Alexander cradling him close, kissing him and praising him in sweet French for a while. Eventually he'd started whimpering in discomfort, overheated with sweat that soon left him with chills as it began drying against his skin. 

John must have fallen asleep after that while Hamilton prepared a bath, because his next solid memory was waking up in the tub filled with waist-high warm water as the redhead ran through his hair once more that ornate silver comb from the previous night, his sleeves rolled up and kneeling behind him, caring for him attentively the way he always did whenever he took charge of their intimate moments together, so to speak. 

He groaned and rubbed his head, "Hnng... what happened?"

”You fucked yourself into unconsciousness.” Hamilton told him bluntly, and he stared at him. "I, uh, may have helped."

The man's mouth twitched and a kiss was dropped onto his shoulder, “I think our nightly activities combined with the stress of helping deliver a child was possibly a bit too much to do on less than eight hours sleep.” he finally admitted

"Ah. Did you... carry me here?" 

He felt the other press a kiss to his temple, "Don't worry about it, Laurens. I'm stronger than I look." 

"I'm well aware." John replied, and if Alex caught the double meaning in his words he said nothing of it. "You don't have to do that..." he murmured when the hands returned to his hair, though he wouldn't deny it felt wonderful on his scalp. Another kiss. "Alexander?" 

A hand gripped his shoulder, kneading it gently until he sank back into the water with a sigh. 

"I told you, it's my turn to take care of you." He murmured, tucking a lock of blond hair behind his ear. _My dearest Laurens._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read about what a good big brother the real-life John Laurens was to his siblings and how he was at times more of a father to them than their actual father, as well as a mother too since she died shortly after the birth of his youngest sister. Also yes, Laurens has a daughter already, and no Hamilton isn't aware of her or that he's married... yet ;) 
> 
> Anyways this update was a long time coming, and now that we're getting into the real dramatic parts I have a lot of inspiration for this story, hopefully it won't take me nearly as long to publish another chapter, we've had a few chapters of fluff and things are going to be getting angsty soon!
> 
> Sorry this took so long to write, I hope the wait was worth it and I don't intend to let my account go so long without updates again! The news lately has made it difficult to concentrate but I'm ready to get back to writing again.
> 
> French-English Translation: 
> 
> (SFW)
> 
> "Voulez-vous passer la nuit dans ma chambre encore ce soir? Je pense que personne ne le remarquera." = "Do you want to spend the night in my room again tonight? I don't think anyone will notice."  
> "Bien sûr. Je veux passer autant de temps comme ça—" = "Of course. I want to spend as much time like this—"  
> "—Avec toi comme je peut-être peux." = "—With you as I possibly can."  
> "Ma plus chér ami." = "My dearest friend."  
> "Mon chéri?" = "My darling?"
> 
> (NSFW)
> 
> "Tu ressembler le physique mode de réalisation de tentation, mon très cher Laurens..." = "You look like the physical embodiment of temptation, my dear Laurens..."  
> "Qu'est-ce que ç'est, mon plus cher? De quoi avez-vous besoin?" = "What is it, my dearest? What do you need?"  
> "Tu veux ma bouche?" = "Do you want my mouth?"  
> "Peux prendre je ta beau bite dans ma bouche et te sucer?" = "Can I take your beautiful cock into my mouth and suck you?"  
> "Non, non. Je te veux en à l'intérieur de moi." = "No, no. I want you inside of me."  
> "Je vous en prie, faites-le. Prends moi je suis à toi!" = "Please, do it. Take me, I'm yours!"  
> "Non, ne t'arrête pas!" = "No, don't stop!"  
> "Je n'aurais jamais rêvé trouver le paradis entre les jambes d'un autre homme." = "I never dreamed of finding paradise between the legs of another man."  
> "Viens pour moi, mon cher John," = "Come for me, my dear John,"  
> "Se défaire pour moi, mon amour. Laisse moi te voir!" = "Unravel for me, my love. Let me see you!"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first attempt at writing anything Hamilton related but, after exhausting all the WashingDad stories on here and FF.Net, and still not being satisfied, I decided it was time to write my own. While set in the Hamilton universe, I will be drawing inspiration from real life and other tellings of Alexander's story to fill in the details, and taking certain artistic liberties with regards to historical accuracy. I hope you guys enjoy this!


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